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LITEEATUKE 
IN THE SCHOOL 



AIMS, METHODS AND INTEKPEETATIOKS 



BY 

JOHl^ S. WELCH 

h 
Formerly Supervisor of Grammar Grades, 

Salt Lake City Puhlic Schools 




SILYEB, BUEDETT AND COMPANY 

NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO 






COPTEIGHT, 1910, BY 

SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPAinr 



©CI.A2753'. 7 



rpo the children of the East and the West who 
-L have been an inspiration in many a reci- 
tation this volume is affectionately dedicated. 



PREFACE 

This book aims to suggest the purpose of litera- 
ture in the elementary school and to aid the teacher 
in its presentation. It aims to recognize the prob- 
lems of the classroom in the teaching of literature, 
and to give concrete illustrations of the method of 
teaching particular selections as type studies. It 
aims, too, to suggest a method of study which may 
be suggestive of the teaching process in simpler 
selections for grade work. 

The author recognizes fully that all subjects 
rightly taught, whether cultural or industrial, tend 
to produce an adaptable, a reliable, an efficient 
worker; yet in every study one of these aims is more 
dominant than the others. While literature makes 
for adaptability and efficiency by setting up ideals of 
thought and action, and by its demands for concen- 
trated thought and action, its emphasis is primarily 
upon reliability through its influence on character. 
Literature of itself will not develop character, but 
it will set up as ideals the fundamentals upon which 
character is based. 

The pedagogy of the day has for its aim the set- 
ting up of great general principles and ideals which 
must govern and control the work of the teacher. 
Its defect is that it leaves the teacher who is seeking 



6 PEEFACE 

aid in solving the specific problems of tlie class- 
room in a helpless or confused state of mind. 
After perusing the available books on pedagogy, 
the particular problems of literature, geography, 
history, grammar or arithmetic still remain un- 
solved. If this volume in any essential way tends to 
remedy this defect in the realm of literature-teach- 
ing, if it suggests a mode of treatment to abler 
teachers, the author will feel fully compensated, 
even though his every step be subjected to adverse 
criticism. 

Acknowledgment is herewith made of indebted- 
ness to the many friends of the profession who have 
encouraged the work ; and especially to Col. Francis 
W. Parker, Orville T. Bright, Mrs. Ella Flagg 
Young and Dr. Arnold Tompkins for direction, en- 
couragement and inspiration, when, working under 
their leadership, the possibilities of literature in 
the elementary school first dawned upon the writer. 

For their many helpful suggestions in regard to 
this book, thanks are due to D. H. Christensen, 
Superintendent, Salt Lake City Schools ; A. C. Nel- 
son, State Superintendent of Public Instruction, 
Utah; Professor F. W. Eeynolds of the University of 
Utah; Dr. Henry Suzzallo of Columbia University; 
and Dr. T. M. Balliet of the University of New York. 

The author takes this opportunity to express his 
indebtedness to Thomas Y. Crowell & Company for 
permission to quote from ''Robin Hood," by T. 
Walter McSpadden; and to Houghton Mifflin Com- 
pany for permission to use " The Day is Done," 



PREFACE 7 

"The Challenge of Thor," and ''King Robert of 
Sicily," by Henry W. Longfellow; "The Great 
Stone Face," by Nathaniel Hawthorne; "Little 
Red Hen," by Mrs. A. D. T. "Whitney; and "The 
Sandpiper," by Celia Thaxter. 



CONTENTS 
Ipact One 

FAOE 

Introduction: The Aim 11 

CHAPTBB 

I. LiTEEATUKE, Its ScOPE AND PURPOSE . . . .20 

11. Spiritual Environment 29 

III. Literature and the Beading Problem . . .37 

IV. Methods in Literature 51 

V. Type Stories 71 

Ipart tTwo 

VI. Psychology and the Beading Problem . , . 89 

VII. The Great Stone Face: The Story Analyzed ' . .110 

VIII. Type Studies: Nathan Hale, Begulus, Pheidippides . 135 

IX. Contrasted Studies: The Sicilian's Tale . . . 163 

X, Contrasted Studies (continued) : Saul .... 180 

XL Contrasted Studies (continued) : Job .... 207 

XII. Contrasted Studies (concluded) : Comparative Study . 220 

XIII. Supplements A, B and C 226 

Index 233 



Ipart ©ne 

INTRODUCTION: THE POINT OF VIEW 

The American public school, its best aims and 
right uses, presents a serious problem to every 
right-thinking American. It is a problem yet to be 
solved, but a problem which demands defining and 
to which bounds and limits must be set. The many 
vain attempts to graft on to our public school sys- 
tem the ideals and practices of the Old World bear 
witness to the confusion existing in the minds of 
educators as to the real aim and function of the 
public schools of this country. The latest attempt 
to import aims and ideals defines itself under the 
caption of " trade schools." That there is much in 
our school life which demands change is beyond 
question. That an efficient man is a worthy return 
for money invested no one will deny. That the 
"trade school," in connection with elementary 
school work, equals efficiency or even approaches it 
is a debatable proposition. To present the question 
squarely it may be permissible to make a contrast 
between the aims and ideals of the Old World and 
those of the New. 

In the Old World society resolves itself into two 
classes, the aristocrats and the democrats. The 



12 LITEKATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

fundamental idea back of its scliool systems is to 
perpetuate this difference. The prestige of the 
father, or the lack of it, determines the status of 
the son. The occupation of the father in a large 
measure determines and limits the ambition of the 
son. The aim of any school system based upon such 
an organization of society is to turn back to society 
the efficient cobbler, tinker or blacksmith, as the case 
may be. From the Volkschule of Germany it is 
utterly impossible to advance in a scholastic way 
unless the work of the school has been supplemented 
by a private tutor. The aim of the system is to 
produce a man who can do certain things efficiently 
in his own set way. Such an one lacks versatility 
and adaptability. He is a mechanic in his own line 
and in his own way. In all things else he is hope- 
lessly inefficient. 

The genius of the American public school is to- 
tally different. In the Old World system imperial- 
ism is accorded place and power. Through the 
public school of the New World sweep the demands 
and the spirit of a rational democracy. The neces- 
sity for universal education and enlightenment in a 
government of the people was the determinant of 
the American system of public schools. Uncon- 
sciously, but none the less surely, the public school 
system of America was shaped and fashioned in 
harmony with the law and the spirit of evolution. 
The period of infancy is the determinant in shaping 
man to what he is and may be. The American pub- 
lic school in its essential nature is an institution 



INTEODUCTION : THE POINT OP VIEW 13 

which still further prolongs the period of infancy. 
It prolongs the period during which the individual 
in the process of becoming is growing into a discov- 
ery and a possession of himself. This discovery, 
this possession, determine his ambitions and set the 
limits thereto. The tendencies, capabilities, possi- 
bilities of the individual himself, not the occupation 
nor possibilities of the father, determine the place 
which he shall assume in the world's workshop. 
Herein is one essential and fundamental difference 
between the aims and purposes of imperialism and 
those of democracy. 

The idea back of the "trade school," in connection 
with elementary school work, is diametrically op- 
posed to this American idea, and therein lies its 
weakness and its danger. It hastens the period of 
maturity. It determines choice of occupation at too 
early a date. The occupation of the father, or some 
phase of the industrial life of the immediate envi- 
ronment, determines the choice, not the discovered 
powers and limitations of the individual himself. 
By this process he may become narrowly efficient. 
He will not become versatile and adaptable — the 
very mark and genius of the American workman. 
By this technical training at too early a date the 
tendency is to become more and more a mere cog 
in an industrial machine ; and the needs of the mart, 
not the rights of the man, become the power and the 
genius which shape and define American school life, 
its aims and ideals. 

Fortunately for this distinctive idea in American 



14 LITEKATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

school life, the "trade school" idea limits itself to 
industrial centers, dominated to a considerable ex- 
tent by foreign influences and prejudiced by Old 
World ideals and experiences. It finds little re- 
siDonsive echo in the American consciousness, nor 
will it become the determining idea back of the 
American public school. At the same time the pub- 
lic school must recognize more clearly its own aims 
and ideals and functions and must move with clearly 
defined ideas to the realization of these aims, ideals, 
functions. Its aim must be to turn back to society as 
the finished product (1) the reliable man; (2) the 
adaptable man; (3) the efficient man. Its methods 
must be so shaped and defined that its theory will 
be exemplified and justified by its output. 

The aim of this book is to deal with but one phase 
of this complex problem, to state its needs and to 
suggest a means. This phase pertains to the deter- 
mining of the reliable man. 

Any one who has given thought to present-day life 
in America ; who has followed with patriotic zeal the 
newspaper and magazine articles dealing with the 
problems of civic life ; who has witnessed the piracy 
of the market-place, the operation of gigantic com- 
binations and concerns which merited and received 
the protest and antagonism of a great, virile Presi- 
dent, must have been impressed by the fact that 
present-day society, in no mean way the product of 
our public schools, is much more efficient than relia- 
ble ; much more intellectual than ethical ; much more 
successful than moral. Surely the bread-and-butter 



INTKODUCTION : THE POINT OF VIEW 15 

factor for tlie individual was a greater determinant 
of the aims and practices of the public school than 
the needs of the society in which the individual 
found himself and which accorded him his oppor- 
tunity. While the efficiency of the individual is not 
necessarily an evil, it must be toned and balanced by 
reliability of purpose and stamina of character. 
The reliable man who measures up to the full stat- 
ure of society's needs and demands must also be 
adaptable to adjust himself to the great, complex 
changes continually going on in every phase of the 
world's work. In this complex situation must be 
found the aim and function of the school, the solu- 
tion of its problem. 

"As the twig is bent" 

Childhood is the formative period for the physi- 
cal, the intellectual, the spiritual stature of matu- 
rity. In this impressionable age is laid the founda- 
tion, is planted the seed of fine emotions, tender 
feelings, high ideals that are to determine future 
being and becoming. In the unfolding tendencies, 
feelings and emotions, the soul-growth records it- 
self. The function of the best literature is to stimu- 
late this soul-growth and ' ' to make the best that has 
ever been thought in the world the portion of every 
one born into the world. ' ' Its function is to lift the 
reader from the contemplation of material needs 
and advantages to the contemplation of the needs 
of the spirit in its hunger and thirst for righteous- 
ness. Its function is to bring to each individual the 



16 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

priceless treasures of the ages in terms of the spir- 
itual environment, and, through it, to enable each 
individual to rise to higher and still more high 
ideals and aspirations of spirit. This is the law of 
life — of being and becoming. Ever the old ideals 
are realized, ever the newer and higher ideals take 
their place, ever the individual and the race strive 
to realize their best ideals through growth, through 
education. In the inability to set up and to aspire 
toward an ideal is recorded the death of the soul. 

The modern tendency in school work to foster the 
essentially practical studies, particularly science, 
manual training and similar lines of work which 
lead toward the trades and industries, to the almost 
utter neglect of the study of literature in the ele- 
mentary school, is due to a desire to secure a proper 
and adequate adjustment of the individual to his en- 
vironment, and to prepare him for efficient service 
in the life which he is to live. It is a belief and a 
desire born of honest but mistaken convictions as 
to what constitutes an environment and as to what 
is the full measure of success. The error lies in the 
assumption that the environment is essentially ma- 
terial ; that the needs of the market and the loom are 
the be-all and the end-all of social and industrial 
life. A one-sided policy and a hypermyopic vision 
have led some schools and schoolmen to overlook 
the fact that the prime requisites in all the affairs 
of life, social, industrial, economic, are reliability, 
adaptability, efficiency, in the order named. Our 
penitentiaries are eloquent witnesses to the social 



iNTEODUCTlOlSr : THE POINT OF VIEW 17 

inefficiency of the merely skillful man. For reliabil- 
ity the school must secure adjustment to the spirit- 
ual environment and anchor the individual to the 
fundamental ethical and moral laws of social rela- 
tionship. To secure adaptability the period of in- 
fancy must be prolonged through versatility of 
requirement and the deferring of specialization. In 
the many-sided experiences afforded by the full, rich 
course, the maturing individual will find his scope 
and his limitations. He will find "new dynamos" 
in himself and will tend to make his own adjustment 
to his inclinations, tendencies, powers and possibili- 
ties. 

That there must be a harmonious development of 
the individual in the process of becoming has been a 
trite saying of educators for several decades. They 
have contended also that the school is an institution 
for bringing together the being to be developed and 
the means for that development and for harmonizing 
them effectively and economically. Pedagogues of 
a later vintage scoff at the idea of an harmonious 
development. Shortsightedly, they fail to distinguish 
between presenting conditions for the development 
of body, intellect and spirit, and presenting condi- 
tions for an equal development of every power and 
sense, of tendency and possibility. This latter is a 
man of straw, and when he has been disposed of 
nothing has really been accomplished, because the 
most ardent advocate of the harmonious theory 
would say that that point of view was wholly foreign 
to the theory and spirit of harmonious development. 



18 LITEKATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

The saner tliouglit of the twentieth century will 
see that the factors which have produced the pres- 
ent development of man and the race still survive, 
and will continue to be potent factors in the develop- 
ment of the individual along similar lines. It will 
realize also that the twentieth century child, the cul- 
mination of the past, the prophecy of the future, 
must not be sacrificed to the gods of the mart, 
the ex23ediency of business, the convenience of 
the counting-chamber. In these days of clam- 
orous appeal for industrial training, for tech- 
nical schools, for turning back the shoemaker, the 
seamstress, as the finished product, rather than the 
manly man, the womanly woman, the teacher must 
hearken back to the experiences of the past, note the 
various factors which have fostered present stand- 
ards and ideals, and note also the factors which have 
hindered or rendered ineffective the realization of 
best modern ideals. She must conscientiously weigh 
their merit and justify their retention or rejection. 
She must determine carefully whether the present 
tendency to short-cut to the dollar is the natural 
outgrowth of American ideals, of a rational democ- 
racy, or of an imperialistic idea imported from 
abroad with the halt, the sick, the blind which con- 
stitute the slum problem of our city life. She must 
determine whether the harmonious theory of devel- 
opment which aims to produce a man is of more 
vital concern than the desired technical training 
which aims to produce a skilled artisan as an ele- 
ment in a great productive machine. She must de- 



INTEODUCTION : THE POINT OF VIEW • 19 

termine whether the efficiency or the reliability of 
the modern worker is at fault. If she believes with 
the modern sociologist that the successful man is 
the adaptable man, she will take thought to deter- 
mine whether the function of the school is to hasten 
or to retard the time of specialization. She will sub- 
mit the assumption of the superiority of the Euro- 
pean trained workman to tests of actually demon- 
strated facts. She will seek to ascertain whether 
the European or the American artisan is the adapt- 
able man, and whether our system of education 
makes for the adaptable man by prolonging the 
period of development and retarding the time of 
specialization. 

When our school and our school courses are sub- 
jected to scientific tests, we have faith to believe 
that much that is useless will be eliminated; that 
ancient customs, traditions, even ' ' the wisdom of our 
ancestors," will be overcome; that more and better 
means and facilities for the development of mind and 
body through the vigorous use of brain and muscle 
will be devised ; but side by side with the means for 
the development and growth of intellect and phy- 
sique, literature, rightly taught as a great spiritual 
influence, will find an abiding place also. The school 
of the future will be shot through and through with 
the idea: ''First render fit to live and then assure 
a fit living." 



CHAPTEE I 
LITERATURE-ITS SCOPE AND PURPOSE 

That man cannot live by bread alone is an ancient 
feeling of the human heart. Since the first dawn of 
consciousness man has realized the span and tension 
between what he is and what he may be and ought 
to be. In the contemplation of his infinite possibili- 
ties he has realized the meagerness of the accom- 
plished fact. In the song of bard, in the story 
of romancer, in the prophecy of priest, man has 
sought to point the way from the actual to the 
possible. 

Under the divine inspiration of what he might be, 
man has threaded his way upward across the cen- 
turies. He has harmonized seemingly antagonistic 
forces. He has redeemed wildernesses. He has, 
through the energy of hand and brain, increased the 
productivity of nature an hundredfold. He has 
wrested from the secret places of nature the useful 
minerals and the precious gems. He has dispelled 
the mystery of oceans. He has discovered natural 
laws. He has invented labor-saving contrivances. 
He has reared and adorned palaces. He has solved 
the fundamental life problems of food, clothing and 
shelter in his rise from the simple, crude and earthy 



LITERATURE — ITS SCOPE AND PURPOSE 21 

to the most complex, artistic and aesthetic. Through 
it all and in the midst of it all man realized that 
food, clothing and shelter do not make up the sum 
total of the thing called life. So he dedicated his 
temples, formulated his ceremonies, gave himself up 
to the contemplation of his ideal. He grew dimly 
conscious of the fact that he had realized in but a 
meager way his ideals of the city not built with 
hands ; had approached in a small measure only his 
conception of life beatific. He could not articulate, 
but however dimly, he inwardly saw and felt the 
mighty fact voiced by the modern poet : 

" And so this glimmering life at last recedes 
In unknown endless depths beyond recall." 

In the sweat of his brow man found the way and 
the means for physical development. In the reac- 
tion on and mastering of his physical environment 
he gave rise to his mental development. In the con- 
templation of an ideal life, of ideal relations, of an 
ultimate destiny, he provided for, gave expression 
to, spiritual growth and spiritual development. In 
these articulated hopes and aspirations, in these 
contemplations and ideals, is the genius of all that 
is worthy and vital in literature. And what is lit- 
erature, its aim, its scope, its purpose? 

Professor Clark says: 

" Let us admit for the sake of argument that literature is the 
language of emotion and imagery with little or no appeal to the 
intellect. It is still worthy of study for the real pleasure and 
enjoyment that may be had from it." 



22 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

Charles Eliot Norton says: 

" Change as the world may with the rise and fall of nations, 
change as man may in knowledge, belief and manners, human 
nature remains unaltered in its elements, unchanged from age to 
age, and it is with human nature in its various guises that great 
poets deal. To acquire a love for the best poetry and a just un- 
derstanding of it is the chief end in the study of literature. It 
is by means of poetry that the imagination is quickened, nurtured 
and invigorated, and it is through the exercise of his imagination 
that man can live a life that is in a true sense really worth living. 
It is his imagination that lifts him from the petty, transient, and 
physical interests which engross the greater part of his time and 
thought in self -regarding pursuits, to the large, permanent and 
spiritual interests which ennoble his nature and transform him 
from a solitary individual to a member of the brotherhood of the 
human race." 

Emerson says: 

" It is in the grandest strokes of the poet that we feel most at 
home. All that Shakspere says of the king, yonder slip of a boy 
who reads in the corner feels to be true of himself." 

Carlyle says: 

" The true poet, the man in whose heart remains some effluence 
of divine wisdom, some tone of the eternal melodies, is the most 
precious gift that can be bestowed upon a generation. He sees 
men more clearly than they see themselves and reveals to them 
their own dim ideals." 

Matthew Arnold says : 

" The grand work of a literary genius consists in the faculty of 
being inspired by a certain intellectual and spiritual atmosphere, 
by a certain order of ideas, — and of dealing divinely with these 
ideas." 



LITEKATUEE ITS SCOPE AND PUKPOSE 23 

Professor Woodberry says: 

" Literature is the mind of all the race and the language of all 
the world." 

These are a few of the many attempts that have 
been made to reduce literature to a definition and to 
intimate some of its functions. 

If the first statement were accepted literally, not 
as the author meant it, it would be admitting that 
the products of the lower centers were the most en- 
during of man's creations. In scanning the pages 
of history closely, one has seen readily enough that 
systems of government have been organized that 
seemed as enduring as the ages ; religions have been 
formulated with the apparent sanction and ap- 
proval of divinity, and temples of worship have been 
reared that seemed as firm-set as the pyramids; 
systems of social and industrial life which seemed 
absolutely indispensable have sprung into being : all 
these apparently included the totality of man's life 
for all time, while the expression of his spiritual 
hunger, its longings and its hopes, was merely a 
side issue. Yet these governments now live only in 
story; these religions and temples of worship have 
been reduced to a memory ; every phase and form of 
social and industrial life have yielded to the change- 
compelling wave of progress. But the great spir- 
itual expressions embodied in the literature of the 
people still live with all of their original signifi- 
cance and meaning. The literature of the people, 
voicing the hopes and aspirations of the past, en- 



24 LITEKATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

dures from age to age voicing the hopes and aspira- 
tions of an ever-expanding present. It flows into 
the present from the past, points the future, and em- 
bodies the immortal life-essence of the spiritual in 
man. Literature is the language of the human 
spirit in its moments of great exaltation. It does 
not depend upon the conventions of language, for 
all that the bards of old have sung (in Sanskrit or 
Hebrew, in Grreek or Latin, or any other combina- 
tions of characters to represent through sound 
human feelings and emotions) finds ready response 
in the heart of the modern reader. This is pro- 
foundly true whether their songs were originally 
sung amid the solitudes of the mountains, in fertile 
valleys, amid the pomp of royal courts or the splen- 
dor of ancient cities. These songs are still full of 
life and meaning, whether dealing with gods and 
men on the fields of Troy, picturing the self-sacrifice 
of an Alcestis, or the devotion of an Antigone to a 
higher law, or portraying the agony of soul of a 
Prometheus or a Siegfried. 

If the abiding thing from age to age is the great 
literature of a people, surely it must be something 
more than the mere expression of the emotion and 
imagination. May it not more properly be defined 
as the product of the intellect working, under the 
stimulus of emotion and imagination, on spiritual 
things to produce spiritual results, just as the 
achievements of science and industrial life are the 
products of the intellect working, under the stimulus 
of the emotion and the imagination, on material 



LITEEATUKE — ITS SCOPE AlTD PUEPOSE 25 

things, to produce material results I Every achieve- 
ment or creation of the human race was first an idea 
in one man's mind and the construction was that 
idea externalized, that idea shaped, defined and ex- 
pressed. 

FUNCTION OF IMAGINATION 

Who can conceive of any worthy work done in the 
world in which the emotion and the imagination 
have not played a vital part? What must have been 
the emotion and imagination of Michael Angelo as 
he saw the form of his mighty Moses embedded in 
the unyielding stone, and what his emotion as he 
saw his idea materializing through conscious effort ! 
What his emotion and imagination as he flung his 
time-enduring pictures on the dome of the great 
Italian cathedral ! What must have been the mighty 
emotion and imagination of Columbus as he contem- 
plated his western route and, as he thought, carried 
his contemplation to reality! Who can overdraw 
the masterful emotion and imagination of Galileo as 
he projected his vision to the infinite depths and 
through his great invention discovered the laws of 
motion! What vast emotion and imagination must 
have sustained Edison through his hours of vigil 
and labor as he forged the lightning's chains to 
make it subservient to man's daily needs ! What an 
emotion and imagination must have been required 
to sustain Charles Darwin as he devoted years of 
study to account for the origin of species ! Who can 
follow the emotion and imagination of Marconi in 



26 LITEEATUEE IIST THE SCHOOL 

their daring flights as they contemplated enlisting 
the very atmosphere in the service of mankind as a 
message-bearer! What must have been the clear- 
visioned emotion and imagination of Socrates as he 
endeavored to strike the shackles from the minds of 
Athenian youths, and as he quaffed the hemlock in 
defense of an idea! "What must have been the in- 
spring emotion and imagination of Savonarola 
who impassionately proclaimed that, if created in 
the image and likeness of his Maker, man must in- 
deed be Godlike, and who surrendered his life pro- 
testing that practice and precept must form the 
divine equation ! And what the divine emotion and 
imagination of the lowly Man of Nazareth as he 
scourged the money-changers from the temple, as 
he taught the multitude from the mountain-tops, as 
he unflinchingly faced his final problem in the Grar- 
den of Gethsemane, and as he sent his message of 
mercy ringing down the ages in '^ Forgive them, 
Father, for they know not what they do. ' ' 

The intellect rises to its highest in every phase 
and form of human activity when impelled by a pow- 
erful emotion, aided by a quickened imagination and 
directed by an educated will. Surely the highest 
flights of the intellect are in the contemplation of 
the things of the spirit! 

FUNCTION OF LITERATURE 

/ Literature selects incidents, types, scenes, in na- 
ture and human life, and idealizes them. It lifts 
them out of the walls and limitations of particular 



LITERATURE — ITS SCOPE AND PURPOSE 27 

time and particular place and makes them harmo- 
nize with, and possess, all time and all place. The 
Promethean faith in man is no worn-out screed. The 
devotion of an Alcestis or an Antigone is not pe- 
culiar to Athenian life of ancient days. The moral 
grandeur of a Paradise did not pass away with the 
astronomical conception on which it was based. The 
soul-struggle of Saul was not peculiar to the Judean 
ruler, did not necessarily take its rise from the par- 
ticular Hebraic environs. The courage, the heroism, 
the devotion to ideals, the struggles, the triumphs, 
the defeats, the symphonies and the tragedies of 
human life record the life spiritual, typify individ- 
ual experiences, tendencies, hopes and aspirations. 
Through the splendor of the large, the heroic, the 
sublime, the universal, shines the glory of the com- 
monplace. 

Literature is at once a record and an interpreta- 
tion of worthy life. In the individual and particu- 
lar worth it perceives the embodiment of common 
hopes, aspirations, and possibilities. Through it 
runs the inspiration and the justification of moral 
clash and struggle, and in the ultimate triumph of 
the ideal is recorded the distinction between the 
transitory and the eternal. Literature thus becomes 
the guide and inspiration in times of stress and 
strain, a comforter in affliction, a balancing power 
in times of triumph and victory. 

Literature has a higher scope or function which 
has been stated thus : 

" To the Imman, intellectual and moral resources of the soul 



28 LITEEATUEE IIST THE SCHOOL 

are added the sustaining power of divine grace, the illuminating 
power of divine truth, the transforming power of divine love. 
So a poem becomes the very image of life expressed in eternal 
truth." 

"With like idea Shelley says ; 

" Indeed, what were our consolation on this side of the grave 
and our aspirations beyond it, if poetry did not ascend to bring 
light and fire from those eternal regions where the owl-winged 
faculty of calculation dare not soar ? " 

And Perry: 

" In literature human expression reaches its most exalted state, 
excepting only religion itself, wherein God is both seen and 
served." 



CHAPTER II 
SPIRITUAL ENVIRONMENT 

The spiritual environment to wMcli adequate ad- 
justment must be made has been rendered tangible 
and accessible through, the accumulated treasures of 
the ages in the mighty contributions of story-tellers 
and songsters, of bards and romancers, of poets, 
prophets, seers. The songs the Aryan mothers sang 
still soothe to slumber. The stories of heroic deeds 
of valor still cause the pulse to leap, the eye to 
flash, the will to do and dare. The sacrifice of self 
for the larger good still incites to emulation. The 
prophecy of the dawn of better things still finds its 
responsive echo. The enunciated truths of the 
great fundamental moral laws still sweep and sway 
the emotions. 

"But," says your stickler for the practical, 
''myths, fairy tales, legends, etc., are mere products 
of the fancy. They have no foundation in fact. 
Shall we teach falsehoods'? Children are only too 
prone to falsify without training and encourage- 
ment. ' ' 

The answer to such a question must be found in 
the stories themselves. In the analysis of their es- 
sential nature must be revealed their depths of real- 
ity or unreality, of truth or falsehood. In the story 



30 LITERATUKE 11^ THE SCHOOL 

of Cinderella the essential truth is that unselfish- 
ness ultimately overcomes selfishness. In another 
type, beauty and purity overcome the beastly. In 
other types, truth overcomes error; fidelity over- 
comes faithlessness; integrity overcomes perfidy; 
right overcomes wrong; the purity of an Elaine 
overcomes the licentiousness of a Guinevere even 
though she wear the crown and purple robes of a 
queen. These great stories and poems testify that 
out of his struggles, limitations and temptations 
man rose from earthly and material hopes to the 
larger hope that ultimately right, justice, purity and 
truth must prevail. 

The purpose of studying these great literatures is 
to preserve and sustain the hope, the thought, the 
faith, that in the long, long purposes and processes 
of time, truth must prevail and right, not wrong, 
must dominate the universe. If this be untrue, if 
truth and right shall not prevail in the long run, 
then the dominant influence in shaping ultimate 
events is born of evil — the devil — and not of good 
— of God — an unthinkable proposition. 

MOVEMENT IN LITERATURE— TYPES DEFINED 

In the elementary school the work in literature 
should begin with the nursery rhymes and jingles 
of the home and move through the best myths, fairy 
tales, legends and hero tales. These stories should 
be of the motor, dynamic type ; should embody ideals 
worthy of emulation; should contain basic princi- 



SPIEITUAL ENVIEONMENT 31 

pies of ethics, morals, religion. Each type of story 
has its own significance. 

Colonel Parker well defined the myth as the im- 
perfect answer which nature gives to the childish 
soul of man. Man saw the sun circle in majesty 
through the infinite blue depths, never varying the 
time of its ceaseless round, and he asked: "What 
art thou?" "Whence cometh thy motion?" And 
the myths and legends of Phoebus Apollo, of Jason 
and the Golden Fleece, are the imperfect answers, 
the childish explanation. The iceberg on the moun- 
tain top, pierced by the fierce rays of the relentless 
sun, exclaimed : ^ ' Write my epitaph ! ' ' And the re- 
sponse came in the story of Niobe and her godlike 
lover. In the northern fastnesses the eternal clash 
between light and darkness embodied itself in, gave 
being and personality to, Odin and Thor, Loki and 
Siegfried. These myths, of whatever land or clime 
or people, are the attempts of the childish soul 
to explain and classify the things pertaining to 
its environment. The answer or explanation or 
classification is always in direct ratio to the experi- 
ences which the investigator has to invest, and the 
highest flights of the most rigid scientist are noth- 
ing more. 

The legends and fairy tales at their best merely 
bear witness to the truth already expressed, that 
selfishness must yield to unselfishness; ugliness to 
beauty; evil to good; falsehood to truth; hate to 
love. They emphasize sharply the difference be- 
tween the low, the mean, the petty, the transient, 



32 LITERATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

and the high, the noble, the worthy, the permanent. 
They build into the mind and heart and character 
of those who daily associate with them, right mo- 
tives, a discriminating choice, and a permanence of 
high ideals. 

The hero tales appeal to children at an age when 
they are not yet conscious of their own limitations. 
They are then interested in action, things doing on 
a big scale. Nothing seems impossible to them — 
nothing impossible to their heroes. Now Hercules 
may perform his great labors; now Jason may 
search for the golden fleece ; now Paris and Achilles 
may perform deeds of heroic valor on the fields of 
Troy; and now Eoland and Oliver may astound the 
world with their feats at arms. The far-reaching 
ideals of hero worship at this age may be easily fos- 
tered and encouraged, as they should be, for hero 
worship, at its best, is but the expression of human- 
ity's belief in an ideal. Shall we dare to teach chil- 
dren that all the legendary heroes who wrought 
mightily for the welfare of humanity are but fig- 
ments of the brain, creations of the fancy, having no 
foundation in fact, and shall we then exhort them to 
have belief and trust in the ethical reformers of our 
own day? Shall we teach children that all these 
sacrifices of self, all this devotion to duty, all this 
purity of life and purpose, are not true, and then 
ask them to accept the deeds and worth of the sweet- 
souled, gentle-natured Man of Nazareth with his 
ideals, his lofty purpose, his heroic devotion to 
duty, as the very essence of faith and religion? 



SPIBITUAL ENVIRONMENT 33 

Shall we sow the seeds of skepticism and pessimism 
and doubt and unbelief and still fondly believe that 
hope and faith in the larger life will be the bud and 
blossom of our teaching? Some day the institution' 
called the school will realize that it is the only insti- 
tution that consciously and purposefully plans to 
furnish the means and manner of the development of 
each individual who commits himself to its care, and 
that it must explain him to himself and to the society 
which made the institution possible. 

The hero tales of romance may be succeeded by 
the romance of history, the legendary heroes by the 
heroes of flesh and blood, for history is but the won- 
derful story of man as he has struggled Godward 
across the centuries. The study of these heroes of 
history should not degenerate into the minute, de- 
tailed analysis of individual lives. It should rather 
be the study of real men as the expression of social 
forces, and of social forces shaped and fashioned by 
individual men. The tendency of many teachers in 
dealing with biography to be painfully precise and 
accurate and superficially truthful by going into all 
the petty incidents of life, teaching its accidents as 
well as its purposes, the shortcomings and defects 
as well as its great ideals and accomplishments, has 
been well taken to task by Charles Dudley Warner, 
who says: "I should feel myself a criminal if I said 
anything to chill the enthusiasm of the young 
scholar or to dash with any skepticism his longing 
and his hope." Let us have faith to believe that 
Peter's worshiping from afar was not the full meas- 



34 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

lire of the man; that Washington's outbursts of 
uncontrollable temper were not indicative of his 
motives and ideals ; that Webster was great in spite 
of the fact that he looked upon the wine when it was 
red within the cup. Let us have faith to believe that 
the man at his best is revelatory of the man. As 
Paracelsus exclaims: 

" If you would remember me aright 
As I was born to be, you must forget 
All fitful, strange and moody waywardness, 
WMeh e'er confused my better spirit, to dwell 
Only on moments such as these, dear friends ! 
My heart no truer but my word and ways more true to it." 

Through the study of man and his ideals we may 
come to realize that in order to know any man, it is 
not only necessary to know what he is, but it is also 
necessary to know what he is capable of becoming. 

The study of ideals in the elementary school may 
reach its highest in the study of the warfare be- 
tween the senses and the spirit as typified in the 
Idylls of the King; the highest reach of doing and 
contemplation may be realized in the study of the 
ideals of the Age of Chivalry, and in the majes- 
tic problems of spiritual life embodied in the 
Scriptures. 

In the selection of literature for any grade much 
more must be taken into consideration than the sim- 
plicity of thought and language as both appear on 
the surface. What a travesty on teaching literature 
it is to have little tots six and seven years old mem- 
orize a poem like Tennyson's '^ Flower in the Cran- 



SPIEITUAL ENVIKONMENT 35 

nied Wall" because it is short, the words simple, 
and forsooth wee folks should know something of 
Tennyson! This seemingly simple poem embodies 
the whole philosophy and mystery of life and con- 
fronts the mature intellect of the trained scientist 
with the littleness of his lore, the limitations of his 
knowledge. 

To appreciate a piece of literature thoroughly the 
reader must experience in a degree at least the eth- 
ical and emotional stimulus under which and out of 
which it was written. That is, whether a selection 
is simple or complex depends upon the emotional 
and ethical experiences which have swayed the 
reader and which he has summed up to invest in the 
selection to be studied. The error in selecting lies 
in assuming that the simple in form is necessarily 
simple to the child though far removed in time and 
thought from his experiences, instead of believing 
that the known and necessary are simple, however 
complex apparently, and that the far-off, the un- 
known are complex to the reader, however simple 
in word and form. Hence a simple poem of Tenny- 
son 's may present more real difficulties than a com- 
edy or a tragedy of Shakspere's. The child through 
his experiences will read meaning into the form, and 
the elevated content; sustained thought and artistic 
form will reenf orce and reintensify his experiences, 
will define them more clearly to him and will enable 
him to project himself forward more advantage- 
ously and intelligently in the realizing of himself. 
To illustrate: to sing Cardinal Newman's sublime 



36 LITEEATUEE IN" THE SCHOOL 

liymn at its best, the interpreter must be familiar 
with the circumstances under which and out of 
which it was written and must himself have experi- 
enced the struggle born of grief and illness and 
doubt. He must see Cardinal Newman, worn in 
body and fatigued in mind, as he wends his way 
homeward from the Orient, the Holy Land, whither 
he had gone hoping to settle the grief and doubt 
which perplexed and tortured him. He must see 
that emaciated form lying helplessly on a cot on 
the deck of a vessel on the broad expanse of the 
Mediterranean. He must feel the darkness of de- 
spair settling down on the mind as the darkness of 
the night enfolds the ship at sea. And as that great 
soul looked out through the mists of religious doubt 
and the mists of the enfolding night, the singer must 
see with him the inspiring ray of the fixed and con- 
stant star. Then he too may sing with all of its 
original significance and meaning: 

" Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, 

Lead Thou me on ; 
The night is dark, and I am far from home, 

Lead Thou me on. 
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see 
The distant scene; one glimpse enough for me." 



CHAPTER III 
LITERATURE AND THE READING PROBLEM 

To discuss literature as a means in reading, it is 
necessary to present a point of view in reading; to 
define reading; to state its function and processes. 
The relation of reading to the work of the school 
and the essence of the reading problem must be dif- 
ferentiated sharply from the mastery of the mechan- 
ics of form which is essentially the problem of lan- 
guage and spelling. The inability to recognize this 
distinction is all too prevalent and in a large meas- 
ure accounts for the fact that reading has degene- 
rated almost universally into a mastery of forms, a 
mere pronouncing of words, with little or no regard 
for the content of the idea which gave birth and 
being to the form. 

Reading is imaging. It is a process of mentally 
picturing the scene, event, thing, which lies back of 
the words. It is the ability to see things not present 
to the sense. Out of man's joys and sorrows, out of 
his toils and recreations, out of his struggles, de- 
feats, triumphs, out of the sum total of his experi- 
ences were born his ideas. And out of his yearnings 
to communicate these ideas to his fellow-man was 
formulated his language, the sign and symbol of his 
ideas. The idea in the mind, shaped and defined, ex- 



38 LITERATURE IN" THE SCHOOL 

ternalized and embodied itself in the sign-word. 
The function of the word lay not in its harmony of 
sweet sound, in its phonics or diacritics, but in its 
ability to convey the idea which gave it being and 
significance. The reading problem is found in this 
genesis of language. The end lies not in the ability 
to recognize word forms nor in dexterity in master- 
ing these forms through sound relations, but it does 
lie in the ability to sense the idea which gave birth, 
being and significance to the words. The only false 
association is the association of sound relations and 
diacritics as an end or even as a dominant means to 
an end. This association takes the mind from con- 
tent to form and makes the latter instead of the for- 
mer the dominant idea in the reading process. It is 
a lamentable assumption that the mastery of the 
word form, as such, is in any sense a fundamental 
in the reading problem. The only true association is 
the association of form with idea. The only rational 
assumption is that the mastery of ideas is the end 
in reading. 

Reading is thinking. It consists not only in imag- 
ing the idea which lies back of the word, but of 
thinking these ideas in relation — in unity. Thoughts 
are not made up of isolated ideas but of the com- 
bined result of ideas in relation. In reading, the 
mind must concentrate itself in thinking the ideas. 
The form in which the ideas embody themselves 
must be subordinated to this end. The form must 
serve as a means to convey the thought — must not 
usurp the place and prerogative of thought. 



LITEKATTJKE AND THE EEADIITG PEOBLEM 39 

Reading is interpreting. This is true whether the i 
thing interpreted is a landscape, an experiment in I 
the physical or chemical laboratory, a sculptured < 
form, a tinctured canvas, or a printed page. It is 
the thought process by means of which the mind be- 
comes conscious of the larger idea within which the 
lesser ideas find place and meaning. It is the means 
by which the mind becomes conscious of the theme 
or purpose of the selection. In its larger sense 
reading is the process by virtue of which the mind 
interprets, explains and classifies the varied phe- 
nomena which occasion the life of thought. From 
this standpoint the school problem is the reading 
problem. This reading problem is the thought prob- 
lem with its converse, the language problem. It was 
some such conception which caused the late Dr. 
Harper to exclaim: " The most the university can 
aspire to do is to teach a student how to interpret a 
page correctly." 

The following observation may serve to illustrate 
this point. On a field excursion a large boulder is 
found in a glaciated valley. It seems hard, compact, 
impenetrable. A hole perfectly round and nearly a 
foot in depth is discerned in its side. The sides of 
the hole show symmetrical borings. This is the evi- 
dence of the senses. Then through imagery and 
thought the mind reconstructs the great glacial 
movement which penetrated to and constructed this 
valley. This glacier approaches its limits. It holds 
this rock firmly in its icy grasp. Wedged firmly 
against it is a smaller rock of harder substance. 



40 LITEEATUKE 11^ THE SCHOOL 

Now the forward movement of the glacier is re- 
tarded and the forces of disintegration hold sway. 
The melting snow and ice turn and twist the 
smaller rock which seeks to anchor itself in the boul- 
der which we now contemplate. In the turning and 
twisting and grinding it records its movement, its 
own tenacity, and, perhaps, something of its own 
composition and structure. It bears silent but elo- 
quent witness to the forces which act upon it. A 
sudden melting, a slide from the disintegrating 
glacier and the smaller rock is dislodged from its 
moorings perhaps to lie buried in the terminal mo- 
raine. The hole remains a witness to its being and 
activity, its structure and individuality. Thus the 
mind seeks to explain to its own satisfaction, at 
least, the phenomena with which it comes in contact. 
So with a piece of great literature: the mind seeks 
to get back of the book to the idea, the theme, the 
purpose which gave it formal being and tangible 
worth. 

Beading is feeling. Surely it was an emotional 
longing which impelled man to communicate his 
thoughts to his fellow-man, and surely it was an 
emotional response which made the sign and symbol 
of the one intelligible to the other. How the emotion 
and imagination are stirred by the story of the 
rocks! What changes and processes through an 
eternity of time they have undergone ! How infinite 
the design wrought out in such heroic proportions ! 

To teach reading, then, is to stir the emotions and 
the imagination, to quicken the thought and the 



LITEKATUKE AITD THE BEADING PEOBLEM 41 

understanding, to aronse the feelings and to unify 
them in harmony with the thought processes of the 
writer. 

As just indicated, reading in its largest sense com- 
passes the whole gamut of school work, but as popu- 
larly used, it limits itself to the interpretation of 
the written or printed form. Treated solely from 
this standpoint of mastering word forms and rela- 
tions and interpreting the thought which they con- 
tain, its importance as a school subject, indeed as 
the central school subject, is at once apparent. The 
ability to master any subject depends primarily 
upon the ability to read, that is, to interpret the 
given conditions and principles which give being and 
individuality to that subject. The deplorable lack 
of ability to study in an intelligent, economical man- 
ner is proof sufficient that the aim in reading has 
been, and is, the ability to master word forms, the 
end the ability to pronounce these words correctly 
at sight. This glaring perversion of function must 
needs lead to a closer study of the teaching prob- 
lem. 

The twofold aspect of form and content has been 
the stumbling-block in the teacher's path to prog- 
ress in reading. The tendency always has been to 
devote time and energy to the one aspect or the 
other, instead of recognizing the dual aspect and 
adjusting the methods accordingly. In other words, 
the reading idea, the mastery and interpretation of 
thought, has been confused and blended with, or 
subordinated to, the language or form idea, or the 



42 LITERATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

legitimate demands of form have been slighted or 
ignored and its mastery left to accident, chance or 
caprice. The one method led to a fairly intelligent 
ability to interpret thought when word forms were 
supplied, but left the learner lame and blind so far 
as a mastery of word forms was concerned. The 
other method, the one more universally in vogue, led 
to a glibness and dexterity in mastering word forms 
and facility in pronouncing these words readily at 
sight, with an almost utter indifference as to the 
content, and a lamentable inability to make a proper 
application of the reading to the other studies of the 
school. Is it assuming too much to say that many 
an otherwise intelligent teacher is sadly handicapped 
by her own training and habit in this mode of read- 
ing and that her inability to interpret a piece of 
literature, that is, to read it, is the rule and not the 
exception ? 

If reading is to be a vital, living force in the 
schoolroom, if it is to be the means by which learn- 
ing is to be effected, the means by which every phase 
and form of school work is to be accomplished, the 
method must purposefully and consciously shape it- 
self to provide for a mastery of both form and con- 
tent. It must take cognizance of the inseparable 
unity of this form and content. It must realize that 
the thought is reached through the form in which it 
shapes and defines itself and through which it gives 
itself being and personality. The method must en- 
able the learner to recognize and master word 
forms, to be keenly sensitive to the content of idea 



LITEEATUEE AND THE READHsTG PEOBLEM 43 

that lies back of the form. It must enable him to 
sense the new idea which arises from combining 
these words in sentence relation. These different 
phases of the reading problem are not to be di- 
vorced, but are to be taught as they find themselves 
in the reading problem, in relation and unity. 

This twofold phase of the reading problem must 
be the determinant of all methods for dealing with 
the subject. In the earlier grades the stress is on 
the mastery of word forms unknown to the eye, 
through the known content. It is little short of a 
social crime to impose upon the most helpless class 
the task of mastering unknown form the content of 
which is also unknown. It is the task of mastering 
two unknown quantities, form and content, a task 
imposed nowhere else in the whole round of school 
life. 

In the succeeding grades the emphasis is on the 
mastery of unknown content through the known 
form. It must be borne in mind, however, that this 
method merely indicates the placing of the empha- 
sis. There is never a time when the one aspect of 
the reading problem is dealt with to the exclusion 
of the other. The movement in either case is in 
accord with the time-honored pedagogical maxim of 
moving to the unknown from the known by means of 
the known. The only difference, to repeat, is in the 
placing of the emphasis according to the needs of 
the learner. There should never be the idea of in- 
clusion or exclusion. It is therefore essentially nec- 
essary for every teacher to study her children, to 



44 LITEEATUKE IN" THE SCHOOL 

note carefully what they have done and are capable 
of doing. She should know where the children are, 
what capital they have to invest, and how that capi- 
tal can be invested most economically and advan- 
tageously. 

A grave defect growing out of a lack of apprecia- 
tion for, or an indifference to, the coordinate de- 
mands of form and content, is the prevalence of 
poor expression in the oral reading. In order to 
deal with this defect intelligently it is necessary to 
note its cause. As already hinted, this weakness is 
due either to a mere calling of word forms through 
sound relations, without an adequate regard for or 
conception of their function in expressing ideas 
through group relations, or it is due to a conscious- 
ness of the functional idea but a lamentable lack of 
mastery of word forms through which the function 
is performed. Generally speaking, poor expression 
is the direct and inevitable result of poor think- 
ing, of indefinite and imperfect comprehension of 
thought. It is the direct result of poor teaching 
which fails to make conditions for stimulating and 
defining thought and for the adequate expression of 
the thought stimulated. 

Plainly, then, the teacher's duty in oral reading 
is to make conditions for the clear conception of the 
thought, for a clear association of that thought with 
the form in which it is shaped and fashioned and ex- 
pressed, and to stimulate the emotion and feeling 
necessary for its proper oral expression. These 
ideas should be perceived clearly, not merely as in- 



LITEKATUEE AND THE BEADING PEOBLEM 45 

dividual, isolated ideas, but as ideas in group rela- 
tion, ideas as parts of an organic whole. 

Good oral reading involves the ability to grasp 
ideas in group relation and through proper vocali- 
zation to convey them to the hearer. It depends 
upon the clear comprehension of the thought em- 
bodied in the selection and on the vividness of imag- 
ination, and intensity of emotion, which these ideas 
cause. The ability to express will develop in pro- 
portion to the clearness and intensity of the condi- 
tions which the teacher presents for stirring the 
emotions and imagination, inciting the judgment 
and reason and impelling the will to action. Teach- 
ers should be firm in the faith that all a teacher can 
do in the process is to present conditions for deter- 
mining action. The child grows through guided 
doing. Imitation may be a legitimate starting-place, 
but it is the lowest plane of self-expression. The 
mother knows that carrying the babe or lifting him 
over the bumps develops no muscle, gives rise to no 
coordination of mind and muscle, does not beget 
self-direction, self-reliance and self-assurance. The 
teacher should know that the mental effort of the 
teacher presented for imitation may develop a par- 
rot-like response which may sometimes pass for 
things accomplished to the uninitiated, but only 
through his own mental activity, through purposed 
and directed channels will the child attain self-con- 
trol shown in the concentration of self on the prob- 
lem at hand; self -direction, the ability to muster 
previous experiences and to apply them to the solu- 



46 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

tion of the task; self-assurance, the sublime belief 
in his ability to meet the tasks and problems of his 
own life without the aid of physical, mental or spir- 
itual crutches. Placing undue stress upon errors, 
grammatical constructions and inflections, per se, 
will do little to secure cogent thinking and adequate, 
fluent, flexible expression. 

In order to cause clear and concise thinking with 
economy of time and effort, the teacher must have 
clearly defined ideas as to what she is to accomplish 
in any given lesson and also of the manner in which 
it is to be accomplished. She must keep before her 
mind the universal truth struck off by Jones: 
'■ ' The fact in the thing and the law in the mind, de- 
termine the method. ' ' 

Not only must she think the thought of the read- 
ing lesson, but she must think the manner in which 
the normal mind thinks the thought and the various 
steps by means of which it comes to possess the 
thought and to be possessed by the thought. She 
must think the conditions which she will present to 
cause the mind to move through these steps or 
stages in the developing process until it becomes 
possessed of and is possessed by the thought. In a 
word, she must prepare her reading lessons. She 
must think the form presented to the learning mind 
in such manner as will cause the mind to move 
through the form to the ideas which lie back of it 
and to organize these into the theme or purpose. 

As has been stated, the quality of the expression 
is determined by the intensity of emotion, vividness 



LITEEATUEE AND THE EEADING PEOBLEM 47 

of imagination, conciseness of thought and activity 
of will, and these are determined by the manner in 
which the teacher presents the subject-matter to the 
learning mind. All this implies careful, systematic, 
intelligent planning and preparation of each lesson. 
It may be inferred, readily enough, that becoming 
familiar with the thought of the selection to be read 
is not adequate preparation for teaching a class to 
read the selection. In fact, the real preparation be- 
gins after the thought or idea of the selection has 
been mastered. The real preparation consists in de- 
vising ways and means for bringing the facts in the 
selection and the mind of the learner into harmony 
and unity with economy of time and intensity of 
effort. This in accordance with the law of the mind 
and the manner of its growth. To know the fact is 
to possess the tool; to present conditions whereby 
another mind may come to possess the fact is to pos- 
sess the art of teaching. Without such preparation, 
enthusiasm and intelligent direction will be lacking, 
and with these lacking, the reading lesson will fail 
to perform its function, will fail to realize its own 
best possibilities. 

The reading lesson should teach children how to 
study, how to group ideas, how to find the thread 
of purpose in any lesson, the thread which gives 
unity of meaning to the diversity of detail which 
makes up the subject. It should inspire children 
with a love for knowing and a desire to gratify that 
desire through independent doing. It should inspire 
children with worthy motives, honorable ambitions, 



48 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

high ideals and a dynamic desire to realize them. 
The reading period should be the period for fine 
living, elevated thinking, a period for toning and 
dignifying the whole work of the school. It should 
be the period in which the large, the permanent, the 
spiritual forces hold sway, and in which the char- 
acter and stability of each pupil in the unfolding 
process are shaped and determined. It should be 
the period in which coming manhood casts its 
shadow before. 

In teaching reading the teacher must keep in mind 
the fact that education is a process of self-realiza- 
tion, that it is a process of individualizing the social 
inheritance, the accumulated experience and wisdom 
of the ages. At every step in the process the child 
is becoming whatever has been set up as the end to 
be realized in his development. Teaching in its best 
estate is making conditions which insure the sys- 
tematic and effective movement of the learning mind 
from point to point and from growth to growth. 
Through the movement in reading there is a four- 
fold purpose which the teacher must keep in mind 
purposefully and conscientiously. 

(1) The development of the mind. The teacher 
presents the selection to be studied and guides the 
mind of the learner through the selection as it re- 
solves itself into images, word pictures, figures of 
speech and whatever else of detail makes up the se- 
lection as a whole. Then through comparison, in- 
ference, judgment and reason, conditions are made 
for determining the thread of purpose, the great 



LITERATUEE AND THE READING PROBLEM 49 

central, universal truth which the selection em- 
bodies, 

(2) Oral expression. When the learner has real- 
ized the thought and form through guided effort, the 
verbal expression, he should enhance and intensify 
the thought through adequate oral expression. As 
a work of art there must be unity of form and con- 
tent, and when the child has set the thought in the 
artistic form given to it by the author, and has given 
intelligent and adequate expression to it, he has in- 
tensified his own thought, dignified his own form. 
This sharp association of thought and form is one 
of the most vital factors in the language-reading 
problem. 

(3) The result of the study. In all selections of 
worthy literature the result which the learner has 
been guided in securing must find an abiding place 
in his own spirit. He must be brought into har- 
mony, unity, identity, with the spirit-thought and its 
expression must be self -revelatory. It must be self- 
expression in the best sense of the term. 

(4) Self-mastery. Whatever the teacher has in 
the way of freedom — whatever she has in the way of 
power to realize herself and to express herself un- 
aided in the study and appreciation of any selection 
— that freedom, that power is the right of every 
child, and his energies must be systematically, intel- 
ligently, and persistently guided in that direction. 
The beginning of the making of conditions for the 
child's activity and growth must also be the begin- 
ning of his making conditions for his own activity 



50 LITEKATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

and growth, his being and becoming. Not until lie 
can determine Ms own growth and movement, self- 
directed and self-aided, can he be said to be educated. 
This self -direction is the desired end. Every step in 
the educative process is a means to its attainment 
and fulfillment. 

Eeading affords splendid opportunities for test- 
ing this power. In selections of types similar to 
those studied under the guidance of the teacher the 
test may be made of the ability to invest acquired 
capital in the unaided interpretation and expression 
of similar selections. The power and possibilities 
of the learner must determine the depth of analysis 
and the fitness of expression, not the mature inter- 
pretation of the teacher. In similar selections the 
teacher may guide the growing mind to a fuller 
sense of its own powers and possibilities and lead to 
a deeper significance given to its own doing and a 
keener appreciation of the thought and form subject 
to its study. 



CHAPTEE IV 
METHODS IN LITERATURE 

To approach the study of literature in particular 
it is necessary first to discuss the teaching process 
in general, its aims and purposes. The ''fate of the 
man child" has engaged the philosophic thought for 
many ages, and the modern school is society's latest 
attempt to solve the problem in a large and general 
way. The inspiration of the teacher's work is the 
fact that under her skill, guidance and direction the 
child tends to become what ever she purposes he shall 
be, if she will but gain insight into his nature and 
build from within. This development along pur- 
posed lines is the essence of teaching, the highest 
aim and purpose of the school. 

Occasionally lecturers, to tickle the popular fancy, 
advance the thought that teachers are not positive 
factors in molding and shaping the destinies of so- 
ciety and the nation. Such lecturers handle vaguely 
the terms "imitation" and "suggestion," and have 
a confused meaning for "the mob mind." Their 
position may be the correct one, yet when we reflect 
that the teachers in the public schools of this country 
number more than half a million, that the children 
between the ages of five and eighteen who attend 
school number more than twenty-two millions, that 



52 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

the annual expenditures on the public schools 
amount to more than two hundred fifty million dol- 
lars, we are forced to ask ourselves whether this 
army of teachers is employed, this vast expenditure 
made, whether this tremendous amount of energy is 
expended for the individual comfort, convenience or 
advancement of any individual teacher or pupil. 
We must also ask ourselves whether it is possible for 
this great body of teachers to work with and upon 
such a large percentage of the entire population, 
during the impressionable age of childhood, and yet 
have no influence in shaping the future society which 
these pujDils are to form and in transforming the so- 
ciety which they now do form. Is it reasonable to 
assum.e that this money is expended, that these 
teachers are employed, that these children are ac- 
commodated by those who now constitute the state 
in order that the accumulated treasures of the ages 
may be preserved and the ideals of the race finally 
be realized? It is true that the school reflects the 
ideals of society. It is also true that the school in 
no small way shapes and modifies the conscious 
ideals of society. In a more fundamental way the 
teacher shapes the future because one function of 
the school is to cause the individual student to set 
up and to aspire toward worthy ideals, and in the 
aggregate of individual ideals the social ideal is 
formed. The social ideal can only be concreted in 
the ideal of the individual. 

Schools exist because the children of men are dis- 
tinctive among the products of creative energy. 



METHODS IN LITEKATUEE 53 

They are unique because they can set up and con- 
sciously and purposefully aspire toward a definite 
end or ideal. At every step of the educative process 
the child is becoming whatever has been set up as 
the end. Whatever the teacher has in the way of 
freedom — whatever she has in the way of power to 
realize herself — is the child's right, and toward this 
freedom his energies must be directed constantly, 
toward it he must constantly aspire. The greatest 
thing a teacher can do for a child is to inspire him 
with a love for worthy ideals and a desire and a de- 
termination to realize them. 

Luther Burbank, in the quiet seclusion of his 
study, conceives an ideal rose, then in the garden of 
his conscious and purposeful labor, through his un- 
derstanding of the laws of plant life — through his 
insight into the life factors of soil, warmth, moist- 
ure and light in a delicately tinted creation, he real- 
izes his ideal. This is an accomplished fact in the 
plant world. May it be assuming too much to be- 
lieve that the teacher, working on soul material that 
admits of more infinite possibilities than the mate- 
rial of the plant world, in her hour of meditation in 
the quiet seclusion of her study, may conceive of a 
worthy ideal for the pupils under her care and guid- 
ance, and, through her understanding of the facts 
and forces of spiritual development — through her 
understanding of the factors of soil, moisture, 
warmth and light — the factors of material and spir- 
itual life and growth — ^may, through conscious effort 
realize her ideal in the manly man, the womanly 



54 LITEKATUKE IN" THE SCHOOL 

woman, the most practical product of tlie most prac- 
tical school ? Surely the possibility is inspiring and 
alluring! Surely its realization will dignify and 
glorify the profession of the teacher ! 

The great ideals of the ages are preserved in lit- 
erature. Through its effective study worthy ideals 
of life may be set up and worthily realized. Through 
the guided study of literature the teacher may as- 
pire to cause her pupils to approach her spiritual 
ideal. 

Methods: 

The method which a teacher follows in the study 
of a selection in literature must be determined 
largely by the desired end in the study. Whether 
the story be told as a whole in order to preserve the 
unity of the selection before proceeding to deal with 
the subject matter in detail, must be settled from the 
standpoint of considering the subject matter as the 
means or the end in the educative process. If the 
knowledge of the subject matter is the only desired 
end then the telling of the story justifies itself; but 
if the development of the intellectual and emotional 
and imaginative nature of the child is also a vital 
factor in the study of the selection, and this study is 
regarded as a means in the process of development, 
then the discovery of unity in the diversity of detail 
is the goal toward which the teacher directs the 
study. It is the final end and aim to be reached by 
the learner through his own effort and not the be- 
ginning to be thrust upon him by the teacher. 



METHODS IN" LITEBATUEB 55 

The function of the study of literature is to reach 
the thought of the author, in a relative sense at least, 
as an outcome of the study, to reach the plane which 
he occupied at the beginning. The reader and the 
author begin at the opposite poles in dealing with a 
selection. The author chooses his theme, then 
through figures of speech, through word painting, 
and all the details of plan and picture, seeks to drive 
home the great universal truth which he has exter- 
nalized in the creation of his fancy. The reader 
begins with the details, the pictures, word paintings, 
figures of speech, etc., and through imagination, 
comparison and inference finds the thread of pur- 
pose, the great central, universal truth which the 
seer, the author, has embodied in the form. 

There are two more factors an attitude toward 
which determines the method. These factors with 
which we must deal in the study of any work of art 
are form and content. It frequently has been said 
of one school that it merely aims to get the thought 
without laying any particular stress on the form, 
and of another school that it lays the whole stress on 
a knowledge of the form with little regard for the 
content of thought. Either view at best is very su- 
perficial. It seems impossible to think the form 
without also and at the same time thinking the form 
of what? It seems equally impossible to think the 
thought without also thinking the thought as shap- 
ing and defiming itself through form. Is it not more 
rational to think form and content as inseparable 1 
"When the artist has revealed his thought in the only 



56 LITEKATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

form that can adequately express the idea, is it a 
difficult matter to believe that there can be no change 
in the form without a corresponding change in the 
thought? Is the simplified form of ''Hiawatha" the 
spiritual uplift of the poet in his great epic? Does 
it make the appeal and express the feeling the poet 
makes and feels when he exclaims: 

" Ye whose hearts are pure and simple, 
Who have faith in God and Nature, 
Who believe that in all ages 
Every human heart is human, 
That in even savage bosoms 
There are longings, yearnings, strivings 
For the good they comprehend not, 
That the feeble hands and helpless, 
Groping blindly in the darkness. 
Touch God's right hand in that darkness 
And are lifted up and strengthened : — 
Listen to this simple story. 
To this song of Hiawatha ! " 

When the reader has come to a realization of the 
author 's thought and an appreciation of the form in 
which it is embodied, he has given verbal expression 
to the thought ; and when he has uttered the words 
in such manner as will cause the hearers to see and 
feel with him, he has given vocal expression to the 
thought. This latter attainment is the more difficult 
art for it requires the expression of a set idea in a 
set form. It is an end to be attained worthily be- 
cause it carries with it the idea of giving as well as 
of getting. The art of teaching reading which cul- 
minates in this oral expression lies in arousing the 



METHODS IN LITEEATUKE 57 

emotion and feeling and thought necessary for ex- 
pressing this set idea in the set form. Memorizing 
synonyms and other substitute expressions is worse 
than useless. Beautiful ideas are separate and dis- 
tinct creations and they admit of no substitution. 
As well might one attempt to simplify a beautiful 
piece of G-reek sculpture with hammer and chisel, or 
to simplify the idea embodied on the glowing canvas 
by substituting a chromo, as to attempt to reveal 
the spirit of literature by an arbitrary change of 
form. 

In all oral expression the proper test is the ability 
of the reader to fascinate his hearers with the 
thought uttered and to leave the hearers as uncon- 
scious as possible of the reader. Any gesture, any 
peculiarity of emphasis or accent that calls the at- 
tention to the reader and from the thought read is 
affectation and not art. The ideal expression leaves 
the hearers unconscious of the fact that the reader is 
causing their thinking, of the fact that the reality is 
not before them all of the time. 

Modes of Expression: 

As has been stated in another chapter, the cultiva- 
tion of the imagination in the study of literature is 
very essential, and the images or pictures should be 
well defined. But the image, the picture, is but a 
means to an end. The thought expressed through it 
is something other than the picture. A picture or 
image may cause a thought but it is not the thought. 
Through the pictures and images in a piece of lit- 



58 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

erature the reader approaches the author's thought, 
but in order to understand the thought thoroughly 
it is necessary to understand the basis of thought. 
In the study of ' ' Evangeline, ' ' for example, an abun- 
dance of beautiful word pictures will be found 
through which and uniting which flows the thread of 
purpose, the ideal love that hopes and endures and 
is patient. In "Whittier's ''In School Days" there 
is the picture of the quaint, old, dilapidated school- 
house, evidencing the wreck of time on the outside, 
and the wreck by the forces of spontaneous activity 
on the inside which is suggestive of the first, crude 
beginnings of manual training and art in the school- 
room. The pictures in this poem are but the means 
through which the simple but beautiful lesson is 
taught. It is by means of the picture that Lowell 
impresses upon the reader of the lines : ' ' As Sir 
Launfal made morn through the darksome gate," 
etc., the wholesome lesson that this child of fortune 
could not find himself in the leper and thereby dis- 
qualified himself for finding the Holy Grail by fol- 
lowing in the steps of the meek and lowly Master. 
In his picture of Scrooge, with a "frosty rime upon 
his head and on his eyebrows and on his wiry chin, ' ' 
Dickens tells of the man who apparently was full of 
internal and external frost, utterly devoid of human 
feeling and sympathy, but who through trial and 
struggle proved himself capable of becoming sub- 
limely altruistic. 

(By means of drawings these pictures may be 
sharpened and more clearly defined.) 



METHODS IN" LITERATURE 59 

Dramatization : 

The function of dramatization is to objectify the 
mental image and by this means to re-intensify the 
idea which it embodies. Dramatization is an aid to 
the expression of imagination, feeling and emotion; 
as a means of vivid imaging it has a legitimate place 
in the schoolroom in the teaching of literature. 
However, teachers must not lose sight of the fact 
that all objective representation is on a sensuous 
basis, and that the highest flight has not been 
reached until, through the study, the reader has 
risen above the sensuous to the spiritual conception 
to which the image, the picture, was but the means. 
The great dramas of Shakspere are a mighty force 
and power, for, despite the glitter and trappings of 
the stage, the pomp and splendor of costume, a thrill 
of real, spiritual life is felt in and through them all. 
But it is possible to so study a play of Shakspere 's 
that no outer presentation, plus all the panoply of 
the painted stage, can equal the mental construction 
which the reader has made; hence the disappoint- 
ment in witnessing a rendering of Hamlet by even a 
Mansfield or an Irving. Through the study of great 
literature we may rise to the conception of the 
drama voiced by Aurora Leigh : 

" The growing drama has outgrown such toys 
Of simulated stature, face and speech; 
It also peradventure may outgrow 
The simulation of the painted scene, 
Boards, actors, prompters, gaslights, and costume, 
And take for a worthier stage the soul itself, 



60 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

Its shifting fancies and celestial lights, 

With all its gTand orchestral silences 

To keep the pauses of the rhythmic sounds." 

Dramatization, making, drawing, as modes of ex- 
pression all have a legitimate place in the study of 
literature while the study of the selection is still in 
progress, that is, while the readers are still dealing 
with the data by means of which they will arrive at 
the author's thought or purpose. By means of 
these modes the imagination may be intensified and 
strengthened, and through the imagination the 
reader may be enabled to see things not present to 
the senses, and, by their recall build the parts into 
a united whole. When this last and highest point 
has been reached, the point to which all of the parts 
were but the means of approach, there must be re- 
sort to no form of expression that tends to lower 
the plane of thought, that tends to replace the spir- 
itual by the sensual. This point may be illustrated 
by taking liberties with a thought suggested by Prof. 
W. W. Black of the University of Indiana : After a 
class has made a study of Longfellow's ''Building 
of the Ship," and in and through the study each 
reader has built up not only a great ship of state 
freighted with the destinies of democracy and the 
nation, but has also built up a great spiritual ship 
freighted with the destinies of an individual life; 
when each has come to realize the intensity of the 
poem in the lines : 

" Ah, if our souls but poise and swing 
Like the compass in its brazen ring, 



METHODS IN LITEKATUEE 61 

Ever level and ever true 

To the toil and the task we have to do, 

We shall sail securely and safely reach 

The Fortunate Isles, on whose shining beach 

The sights we see, and the sounds we hear, 

Will be those of joy and not of fear ! " 

what a travesty on correlation it is to send the 
class to the manual training room to make a mud 
scow! 

There is another phase of correlation which may 
be equally dissipating in its effects on the selection 
studied. This may be illustrated from Whittier's 
''Nauhaught, the Deacon." "Whittier says: 

"Nauhaught, the Indian deacon, who of old 
Dwelt, poor but blameless, where his narrowing Cape 
Stretches its shrunk arm out to all the winds 
And the relentless smiting of the waves, 
Awoke one morning from a pleasant dream 
Of a good angel dropping in his hand 
A fair, broad gold-piece, in the name of God," 

The teacher who does not comprehend the pur- 
pose and spirit of correlation may now pause to 
have the children draw a map of New England, lo- 
cating Cape Cod, and then proceed to make a de- 
tailed study of the physical facts and forces of that 
wild New England coast, the weathering of wind 
and wave, the force of resistance which withstands 
their fury ; or she may take up the historical aspect 
and deal with the causes that drove the early pio- 
neers across the sea, with their hardships and perils 
and privations, with their perseverance, patience, 



62 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

fortitude, courage; or she may deal with their at- 
tempts to convert the Indians to Christianity; or 
she may take up the art phase and lead the class to 
imagine a sky, heavy, ominous, threatening with the 
dense, low-hanging storm-cloud, the waves lashed 
to fury by the gods of the tempest, and as the pupil 
imagines himself on the desolate coast in the midst 
of that awful sublimity and grandeur of the storm, 
have him record his emotion and feeling in color! 
Any or all of these topics may be of interest and in- 
structive in and of themselves, but when the study 
is the analysis of the selection under discussion they 
only justify themselves when they are indispensable 
factors in the interpretation of the selection studied. 
The purpose of the study of any selection in lit- 
erature has reached its highest and most worthy 
possibility when the reader really lives the ideal life 
for the half hour at least; when he feels himself in 
and through the struggle and finally crowns himself 
victor. When the storm and stress of real life, in- 
tense and grimly earnest, assail him, then the 
strength, born of this hour of quiet study, will enable 
him to stand like a tower of strength and to with- 
stand successfully all the strain and fury of life's 
tempest. Amid all the doubt and discouragement 
and Jack of sympathetic approval he will rise to the 
optimistic uplift and outlook of vision of Edmond 
Rostand, as witnessed in his lines : 

" And what should a man do ? Work without concern of for- 
tune or of glory to accomplish the heart's desired journey! Put 
forth nothing that has not its springs in the very heart, yet, 



METHODS IlSr LITEKATUEE 63 

modest, say to himself, ' Old man, be satisfied with blossoms, fruit, 
yea, leaves alone, so they be gathered in your garden and not an- 
other man's ! ' Then if it happens that to some small extent he 
triumphs, be obliged to render of the glory to Caesar, not one jot, 
but honestly appropriate it all. In short, scorning to be the 
parasite, the creeper, if even failing to be the oak, rise, not per- 
chance to a great height — but rise alone ! " 

Story-telling: 

The study of literature in the grades may well 
begin with stories, rhymes, jingles, chants, memory 
gems. The nursery rhymes and jingles of the home 
may serve as the connecting link between the litera- 
ture of the home and the literature of the school, 
from which and through which the little minds may 
be led to the literature of life, of right living and 
high thinking, to the best that man has thought and 
felt and expressed. 

It scarcely seems necessary to pause to mention 
the great importance of story-telling in the early 
years of school work, or of its permanent influence 
in quickening the emotions and feelings, strengthen- 
ing the imagination and intellect, and laying the 
foundations for ethical and moral judgments in all 
social relations. Children naturally live in the 
world of the imaginative, of the fanciful, the 
world of the ideal. They glory in this world with- 
out bounds or limits. They find themselves in the 
mighty doers of the past, the heroes of old who 
wrought majestically on a worthy scale. In their 
deeds, the children familiarize themselves with zeal, 
with courage, with unselfishness, with devotion to 



64 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

duty, with the joy of achieving worthily in a right- 
eous cause. In these struggles and obstacles the 
children acquaint themselves with the problems of 
pain and privation ; of selfishness and faithlessness ; 
of untrustworthiness ; of the petty, the mean, the 
contemptible. Approaching these problems in this 
far-off, objective way, the children lay a foundation 
upon which to rear, to appreciate and to understand 
their own personal experiences. (How many par- 
ents there are who are suddenly aroused to the fact 
that the negative side of this world's life has been 
thrust upon their children untempered by any ob- 
jective experience to soften the blow, to modify the 
shock! How this fact has struck home in the look 
and tone of the little questioner as he asks: ''Why 
didn't you tell me of this?" It was his right to 
know.) 

When the clouds hang heavy and somber on the 
horizon of life, as 

" The natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 
That has been, and may be again — " 

has struck the mind and heart of the individual, 
there should be a sustaining faith in the ultimate 
triumph of righteousness born of the far-off, the ob- 
jective experience. This strength born of the strug- 
gle and hardship and privation in the objective, the 
far-off, will be tested sorely enough when the prob- 
lems of sorrow and pain and loss, as well as those of 
hope and joy and triumph, come to each with per- 
sonal significance and meaning. 



METHODS IN LITEEATUKE 65 

For an illustration of the use and power of the 
story as a factor in moral and spiritual training, 
one needs must turn to the Master who taught them 
saying: 

" Behold a man went forth to sow ; 

" And when he sowed, some seeds fell by the wayside, and the 
fowls came and devoured them up, 

" Some fell upon stony places where they had not much earth : 
and forthwith they sprung up, because they had no deepness of 
earth : 

" And when the sun was up they were scorched ; -and because 
they had no root they withered away. 

" And some fell among thorns , and the thorns sprung up and 
choked them. 

" But others fell into good gTOund, and brought forth fruit, 
some an hundredfold, some sixtyfold, some thirtyfold. 

" Who hath ears to hear, let him hear." 

Manner of Story-telling: 

If the cold, expressionless type is to be made to 
glow with feeling and to thrill with life ; if the soul 
is to respond to the music and tenderness of verse ; 
if the moral judgment is to attune itself with truth 
and justice and mercy, it will be because the teacher 
molds an ideal in thought and expression as she 
feels her own emotion and feeling respond to the 
feeling and thought and spirit of the story. Her 
feelings must be natural and spontaneous, not su- 
perficial and forced. Children readily detect the 
metallic ring of the false note. Her articulation, 
enunciation, modulation, must be clear, sweet, beau- 
tiful. Her appreciation and spirit must record 
themselves in voice and eye, in the expression of 



66 LITEEATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

face and form. She must cultivate the art of story- 
telling as practiced by the story-tellers of old, the 
harpers and Homers who kept alive the fervor and 
passion of a people. 

Unfortunate is the class whose teacher feels that 
she must always lean on a book, must always permit 
a book to come between herself and her class ! The 
eye, the look, the tone, all lose in force, intensity and 
power through the reading. How doubly unfortu- 
nate is the class whose teacher reads to the class 
through the hook, lifeless, monotonous, spiritless! 
What a spirit thus enkindled, what an ideal of ex- 
pression thus formed! 

Reproduction of the Story: 

In the reproduction of the story the imagination 
may be made to kindle anew, the vocabulary may be 
increased, the ideals of expression may tend to real- 
ize themselves, the future language work may have 
its genesis. And what an opportunity is here to cul- 
tivate a musical reading voice — an opportunity all 
too often sadly ignored, if one may judge by the 
monotonous tone of many schoolrooms. By means 
of phonic drills through jingle and chant, the 
muscles and cords may be trained to proper ad- 
justment, the enunciation, articulation, pronuncia- 
tion and modulation may be rendered soft and sweet 
and clear and musical and beautiful. In fact, the 
educative possibilities through the story are mani- 
fold to the teacher who has eyes to see, the heart 
to feel, the will to do. 



METHODS IN LITEKATUEE 67 

Basis for Selection: 

After the teacher has realized the manner of 
story-telling, the next consideration is the basis for 
selecting stories to be told. Much valuable time may 
be wasted in debating the relative merits of partic- 
ular stories and their adaptation to the age, the 
needs, the conditions, of this or that particular 
class. However, is there not a possibility for gen- 
eral agreement in the selection of stories that have 
stood the test of time? Stories that deal with the 
ultimate triumph of truth and goodness and beauty 
and light and lovef Stories that are full of whole- 
some humor and innocent amusement, however im- 
possible the fact detailed? 

The stories which have found a counterpart in 
every clime and among all people, the myth, fairy 
tale, legend, which have stimulated the generations 
of men and record their abiding sense in the ulti- 
mate triumph of right; that lifted them above the 
obstacles and the discouragements of the present to 
a faith in a more wholesome future, are worthy of 
serious consideration on the part of any teacher. 
The stories of heroic action, of mighty valor, of 
heroes who annihilate time and space, who are un- 
daunted by any obstacles, who are stimulated to 
vigorous action by the very difficulties themselves, 
are worthy types and ideals to ponder over, to ad- 
mire and to emulate. The stories of the mysterious, 
the awe-full, the wonder-full, which cause the imag- 
ination to soar aloft on spirit wings, and the spirit 
to glow with a new thrill at the wonder and majesty 



68 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

and full-ness of life, form a worthy basis for inter- 
preting a wonder-full world. 

What a world of wonder this matter-of-fact old 
world is when viewed irrespective of the fundamen- 
tal life problems of food, clothing and shelter ! — the 
apparent rising and setting of the sun; the phases 
of the moon; the planetary and stellar movements; 
the rejuvenation of the springtime ; the fruitf nines s 
of summer; the golden glory of autumn; the quiet- 
ness and restfulness of winter; the apparent shift- 
ing of the sun's position during these phases of the 
earth's life; the institutions of society; the inven- 
tions of industry and fancy in the industrial world, 
in art, in music, in poetry and painting and sculp- 
ture ; in family life ; and man himself, his ability to 
know and to do ; to aspire and to be and to become ; 
his mastery over the physical facts and forces of his 
environment ; his contemplation of the life spiritual ! 
How wonder-full it all is ! How majestical ! How 
awe-inspiring ! Oh, the pity of an imagination dead- 
ened and an intellect dulled through the sordid pur- 
suit of gain ! — a pursuit that sinks all the wonder and 
mystery and beauty of life into the commonplace! 
How more than passing strange that an assumed 
knowledge of the law can conceal the mystery and 
majesty and wonder-full-ness of the fact ! 

Through the myths and legends and tales of 
flower and bird, of sun and storm and the varying 
aspects of nature ; in the legends and romances and 
hero tales of wholesome adventure and worthy 
achievement, of knights mighty in battle, of friend- 



METHODS IN LITEEATUEE 69 

ships and valor, of heroic courage and devotion to 
duty, let us lift the children to a realization of the 
wonder-full-ness of all being, the majesty of all life, 
the glory of all law ! ! 

Literature and the Reading Problem: 

It may be worth while to direct the attention to 
the consideration of literature in its relation to 
learning to read by inquiring whether the difficulties 
involved in learning to read have not been rendered 
more difficult by the use of the short, choppy sen- 
tence-paragraph style of structure — a style so prev- 
alent in our ''readers for beginners." These sen- 
tence-paragraphs are limited in thought, in emotion 
and imaginative stimulus, with little or no appeal to 
the intellect. Their sole excuse for being lies in the 
fact that they afford an opportunity to fix a few 
words in memory. The lack of tension in the 
thought has been responsible for the lack of genuine, 
spontaneous interest and attention on the part of 
the learner, rather than any inherent difficulty in 
learning to read or to any limitation on the part of 
the learner. 

The most serious fallacy to which this sentence- 
paragraph structure has led has been the idea that 
the learner should come in contact with but a few 
words each day, and therefore the changes must of 
necessity be rung on conventional words and phrases 
in sentences constructed for that purpose and for 
none other. With this idea dominating the reading, 
contact with words was deemed primarily of more 



70 LITEBATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

importance than the stimuhis of contact with ideas. 
The number of words memorized or spelled became 
the measure of the fulness of being. 

Of course it may be urged that the majority of 
books for beginners are based essentially on the 
choppy paragraph with the constant repetition of 
words and phrases ; therefore the accumulated judg- 
ment of experience and study must regard this mode 
a necessity. It may be pertinent to inquire whether 
this attitude of mind may not be due rather to tradi- 
tion and lack of scientific thought than to any deep 
psychological insight and judgment. 

(It may not be wholly impertinent to suggest that 
the teacher who has never tried anything else isn't 
qualified to answer the inquiry.) 

Of one thing we may be assured, the great pub- 
lishing houses are spending thousands of dollars 
every year to meet the demands of the teacher and 
her work, and when we believe ourselves capable of 
something larger and better in our reading work, 
something that will have a double value, value in 
the reading and value in reading something in and 
of itself worth while, these publishing houses will 
meet our needs as cheerfully as they now do. Let 
us have faith to believe that the time has come when 
we should more and more base our reading on the 
study of wholes of at least some artistic and literary 
merit. 



CHAPTER V 
TYPE STORIES 

In story-telling, the form and vocabulary em- 
ployed by the teacher may and should be much more 
complex, extensive and diversified than either may 
be in stories presented for study and which children 
will be required to read. "Whether children are to 
read the story or are to be entertained and incident- 
ally instructed by it, they should be taught to think 
the story through and conditions should be made 
whereby they will project the thought by anticipa- 
tion. If wrong inferences are drawn children will 
have an added incentive for attending more closely 
and with less fatigue than would be the case other- 
wise. 

To illustrate the movement through form and the 
manner of projecting the thought forward the fol- 
lowing stories are chosen. Another motive in select- 
ing the first story is to suggest that Eussia has con- 
tributed something to the world's thought besides 
cruelty and oppression and anarchy and red ruin 
and the breaking up of laws. 

A RUSSIAN LEGEND 
(Problem Story) 

Once in the long, long ago, there lived in Russia a very selfish 
old woman. She starved and beat her children, quarreled with 



72 LITEEATUEB IN" THE SCHOOL 

her neighbors, and made herself generally disagreeable to every 
one who knew her. Finally when the death angel summoned her 
to the shadow-land, there was not even one to mourn for her. 

When she appeared before the judgment seat, and the record of 
her selfish and worthless life was read, she was condemned to a 
life of reparation through struggle in the bottomless pit. 

One day as she lay in agony of spirit in the lower depths of the 
pit of hopelessness, she cast her eyes upward and saw an angel 
soaring and singing about the throne of God. She beckoned the 
angel to her and said : " Go back to your Master and ask him 
what I ever did on earth to merit such punishment as this ? " 

The angel wheeled and circled far above her until he stood by 
the throne of the Most High. The angel approached the Master 
and delivered the old woman's message. The Master looked grave 
but kindly said : 

{What? Why do you think so?) 

" Return to the old woman and ask her whether once in all her 
life she ever did an unselfish act." 

On the wings of the lightning the angel hurried to the old 
woman with the message. The old woman thought and thought 
and thought for a long time and then she replied : " Yes ! One 
winter there was a terrible famine in Russia, and men, women, and 
children were starving by the thousands. I had nothing to pro- 
long my life but a single carrot. As I wandered along the high- 
way wondering what I should do when it was gone, I met a woman 
who carried a baby in her arms. Both were sick and starving — " 

{What did the old woman do?) 

" I broke the carrot in two and shared it with the sick woman 
and her starving baby." 

Surely this was an act of unselfishness. 

The angel with a gladsome smile soared aloft until he reached 
the Master and related the incident. The Master with a compas- 
sionate look said: 

{What? Why?) 

"Here is the carrot ! If unselfishness still lives in her heart 
it will redeem her life." 

The angel took the carrot and hastened to the old woman. 



TYPE STORIES 73 

He requested her to take one end while he held the other. To- 
gether they soared upward toward the light and life above the pit. 

As they were going upward the person next to the old woman 
caught her by the heel, the second caught the first by the heel, the 
third caught the second by the heel, and so on until all of the 
people in the pit formed one long human chain drawn upward by 
the one unselfish act. 

The carrot held and hauled them all! 

Just as they neared the mouth of the pit, the old woman 
thought : 

{What? Why? What did she do?) 

" If the carrot should break I would fall back with all of the 
others. The carrot was only intended to haul me out, not to haul 
all of these also ! " With this thought she gave her heel a sudden 
jerk and succeeded in shaking off all who were hanging by it. 
Down, down they dropped into the hopeless darkness. Just then 
the carrot snapped and down, down, down dropped the old woman 
after them! 

The angel with sad face and sorrowful tone said: 

{What? Why? How did the angel feel?) 

"If one unselfish' deed has power to empty the pit of dark 
despair, selfishness has power to fill it again." 

Then he vanished. 

And as for the old woman, if she hasn't outgrown her selfish- 
ness, she is there to this very day. 

SLEEPING BEAUTY 

(Good Overcoming Evil) 

In the far-off, golden days a little daughter was born unto a 
king and queen. She was so beautiful that the king and queen 
were quite beside themselves with joy. They set apart a day 
for feasting and rejoicing throughout their kingdom, and planned 
a brilliant reception at the royal palace. They invited their royal 
relatives, the noblemen and ladies and the wise women of the 
kingdom. They sought to please every one so that all would be 
kindly disposed toward their beautiful little daughter. 



74 LITEKATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

Now there were thirteen wise women in their kingdom, but they 
knew of but twelve, so twelve invitations were sent out and twelve 
golden plates were provided for them at the royal banquet table. 
The feast was celebrated with mirth and song and laughter, and 
as it drew to a close the twelve favored guests stood forth to 
bestow their wondrous gifts upon the child. The first gave virtue ; 
the second, beauty; the third, riches; the fourth, charm and grace 
of manners; the fifth, a kind and sympathetic nature; and so on 
until eleven of the wise women had bestowed their gifts. Sud- 
denly in burst the uninvited thirteenth full of rage and hatred 
and burning with her revengeful desires. Ignoring all the assem- 
bled guests, she cried in a loud, harsh voice: 

" In the fifteenth year of her life she shall prick her finger with 
a spindle and shall fall down dead." And so saying, she turned 
and left the hall as abruptly as she had entered it. 

Every one was bewildered and terrified at the prophecy, and 
the good king and queen were prostrated with grief. The twelfth 
wise woman stepped forward, and in a kindly voice said : " Be 
of good cheer. While I cannot wholly overcome the wicked 
prophecy yet I can soften it. The princess shall not die, but shall 
fall into a deep sleep which will last for one hundred years." 

The king greatly desired to offset even this lesser evil, so he 
commanded that every spindle in his kingdom should be destroyed. 
The command was carried far and wide, and all who heard readily 
complied with the request. 

The princess grew up adorned with all the gifts which loving 
wisdom had bestowed. She was so sweet and lovely, so mod- 
est and clever, so kind and good that all who knew her loved 
her. 

One day when the maiden was fifteen years of age, the king 
and queen rode off in the royal coach leaving the princess to roam 
at will about the castle. 

She wandered about from room to room as fancy led her, and 
finally climbed the narrow, winding stair which led to an old 
forsaken tower. Soon she came to a little door with a rusty key 
sticking in the lock. She turned the key, the door opened and 
there sat a little old woman diligently spinning flax. The prin- 



TYPE STORIES 75 

cess curtsied to the old woman, and then eagerly asked : " What 
are you doing?" "I am spinning," answered the old woman 
nodding her head. 

"What is this thing that spins round so briskly?" asked the 
maiden. Taking the spindle in her hand she began to spin. As 
she touched it she pricked her finger, and that very moment fell 
back upon a bed and lay in a deep sleep. The evil prophecy had 
been fulfilled. 

The sleep fell upon the whole castle. The king and queen who 
had returned fell asleep in the great hall. Everywhere throughout 
the castle nobles and servants fell asleep where they sat or stood. 
Horses fell asleep in their stalls, dogs in the yard, birds in the 
trees, and even the flies on the wall. The fire flickered on the 
hearth for a moment, then slept like the rest. Even the cook fell 
asleep in the midst of meats and cakes and pastries. The wind, 
too, sank to rest, and not a flower or leaf stirred about the royal 
castle. 

A great hedge sprang up about the castle which grew higher 
and denser every year until finally nothing could be seen except 
the top of the roof. The rumor of the sleep of the charming 
princess was bruited about the whole country, and many royal 
princes tried in vain to force their way through the dense hedges. 
The thorns seized them and held them like teeth of steel, and 
many a one perished, vainly struggling to free himself. 

Long years afterwards another royal prince visited that coun- 
try. From the faltering lips of an aged man he heard the mar- 
velous story of the sleeping princess and of the castle behind the 
hedge. The old man also told him that many a prince had lost 
his life in attempting to pass through the hedge. 

" Nevertheless," said the young prince, " I shall pass through 
the hedge, and shall behold the beautiful princess." Nor would 
he hearken further to the remonstrances of the good old man. 

The hundred years were now ended, and the time for the prin- 
cess to awaken was at hand. So when the prince drew near the 
hedge it suddenly changed into a bed of beautiful flowers which 
bent aside to let him pass and then closing behind him was again 
a thick hedge. 



76 LITERATURE IN" THE SCHOOL 

As he passed through the royal castle he beheld king and queen, 
noble and servant just as they had fallen asleep one hundred 
years before. Everything was so still and quiet that his own 
breathing startled him. At last he came to the tower where lay 
the beautiful young princess. She looked so lovely and charming 
that he stooped and gently kissed her cheek. Whereupon she 
opened her eyes and smiled kindly upon him. 

The princess arose and the prince took her hand, and together 
they passed to the court below. Then the king and queen and all 
the court awoke and gazed with wonder and amazement upon each 
other. The horses shook themselves, and then went prancing and 
neighing about the yard. The dogs barked, the fowls cackled, and 
the birds sang. The fire blazed up on the royal hearth, and the 
cooks commenced to prepare a royal feast. 

Then the wedding of the prince and the princess was celebrated 
with royal splendor and again all was joy and mirth and happi- 
ness throughout the kingdom. — Adapted from Grimm. 

Stories to be Read by Children: 

As already suggested, stories which are to be read 
by children should be simple in form and more lim- 
ited in vocabulary than are the stories which are to 
be told to the children. The aim in teaching this 
type of story is to familiarize the mind with the con- 
tent of idea and through this known content to lead 
to a mastery of the form which embodies it. 

The teacher should speak through crayon as well 
as through vocal cords. The doers (the nouns), 
and the doing (the verbs), should be selected with 
care. Through these the ideas may be conveyed, the 
story constructed. 

Here, too, the mind should be encouraged to pro- 
ject itself, to anticipate the outcome. Herein is the 



TYPE STORIES 77 

teacher's opportunity to commence the systematic 
development of logical thinking on the part of the 
children. 

THE BREMEN-TOWN MUSICIANS 

There was once a poor old donkey that felt very sad and 
lonely. 

(Whyf) 

He had carried sacks — 

(Where?) 
to the mill for his master for many a long year. Up hill and 
down he had carried his heavy sacks — 

(How?) 
without complaining. But at last he grew old and feeble. Ilis 
legs became stiff, his teeth dull, his eyes dim. Then he could not 
work to please his master. His master said: 

(What?) 

" I can ill afford to feed a worthless old donkey. I will turn 
him out to die." 

The donkey said: 

(What?) 

" I have worked faithfully all these years. Now my master does 
not even thank me. I must go out into the world to seek my 
fortune." And this is why he felt so sad and lonely. 

He started slowly down the highway that led out into the great, 
wide world. When he had gone a little way he saw a dog lying 
by the roadside. The dog was crying piteously and seemed to 
be in great trouble. 

" How now, friend dog," asked the donkey, " what has gone 
wrong with you?" 

The dog replied, " I served my master faithfully for ten long 
years. I followed him in the hunt by day. I watched his flocks 
at night. Now I am old. I get weaker every day. I cannot hunt 
by day. I cannot watch by night. My master says : 

(What?) 



78 LITEEATUKB IIST THE SCHOOL 

" I must be put to death." 

" I will tell you what," said the donkey, " come with me. We 
will go — 

(Where?) 
out into the world together to seek our fortunes." 

" All right," said the dog. So they walked on together. 

Soon they came to a eat sitting by the road. She looked very 
sad. " What is the matter with you, friend eat ? " asked the 
donkey. 

The cat replied, " I have worked for my old mistress for five 
years. I have kept the rats out of the basement and the mice 
out of the kitchen. Sometimes I worked by day; sometimes by 
night. But I never complained. Now I am old. My joints are 
stiff. My teeth are dull. I can only sit by the fire and purr. My 
mistress says, — (Whatf) — I must be drowned." 

" That is too bad," said the donkey. " Come out into the world 
with us. We are seeking our fortunes." 

The cat said,— (What? Did whatf )—" That's a good idea." 
So she went along with them. 

As they were passing a farmyard, they saw a rooster perched 
upon the gate-post. He was crowing with all his might. 

" Your cries are enough to pierce bone and marrow. What is 
the matter ? " asked the donkey. 

" I have foretold fair weather so the clothes could be washed 
and dried. On Sunday morning company is coming. The mis- 
tress told the cook to make me into soup. My neck is to be wrung 
this evening. So I am crowing while I can." 

" Come with us. Chanticleer," said the donkey. " That will be 
— (What?) — better than dying. You have a powerful voice. 
When we all sing together the music will be great." 

The rooster consented and they all — (Did what?) — started up 
the road together. 

Toward evening they came to a big wood. Here they stopped 
for the night. The dog and the donkey — (Did what?) — lay under 
a huge tree. The eat — {Did what?) — climbed up among the 
branches. The rooster — {Did what?) — flew to the very top of 
the tree. He saw a light away off in the distance. He called to 



TYPE STORIES 79 

his companions. He said, — {What?) — "There must be a house 
where I see the light." 

The donkey said, — (What?) — "Let us go there. These beds 
are not very comfortable." 

The dog said, " A few bones not quite bare will do me good." 
So they all started toward the light. It grew — {How?) — larger 
and brighter until it led them to a robbers' house. The donkey 
went up to the window and looked in. 

" Well, what do you see ? " asked the dog. 

" I see a table set with splendid food. Eobbers are sitting 
around it and feasting." 

" That will just suit us," said the rooster. 

" I wish I were there," said the cat. 

Then they all planned to get the robbers out of the house. The 
donkey placed his fore-legs on the window-sill. The dog got on the 
donkey's back. The cat got on the dog's back. The rooster flew 
up and perched on the cat's head. 

Then they all began to make their music. The donkey brayed. 
The dog barked. The cat howled. The rooster crowed with all 
his might. Then they burst into the room breaking the panes of 
glass. 

The robbers — (Did what?) — ^fled when they heard the dreadful 
sounds. They ran to the woods in terror. Then the four com- 
panions sat down to a fine feast. 

When they could eat no more they put out the light and each 
hunted a sleeping place. The cat — (Did what?) — curled up in 
the warm ashes on the hearth. The dog — (Did what?) — lay be- 
hind the door. The rooster flew up on the roof. The donkey — 
(Did what?) — lay down in the yard outside. They were all tired, 
so — {What happened?) — they soon fell fast asleep. 

One of the robbers saw that no light was burning. Everything 
seemed quiet. He said, — {What?) — " We have run away without 
reason." 

The captain said, " Go back to see who is there." 

"All right," said the bold robber. And back he went. 

He found everything still and quiet. He went into the house 
to strike a light. He saw the cat's eyes shining on the hearth. 



80 LITERATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

He thought they were — (What?) — coals of fire. He put a stick 
in the cat's eye to kindle it. The cat — (Did what?) — flew at his 
face spitting and scratching. The robber was — (What?) — ter- 
ribly frightened. He yelled in terror and ran for the door. He 
stepped on the dog. The dog jumped up and — (Did what?) — 
bit him on the leg. The rooster heard the noise. He — (Did 
what?) — cried out " Coek-a-doodle-do ! Cock-a-doodle-do ! " 
Then the robber ran through the yard and the donkey — (Did 
what?) — kicked him on the back. 

The robber ran back to his comrades. He was white with fear. 
He exclaimed, " captain ! There is a terrible old witch in that 
house. She scratched me in the face with long sharp nails. A 
giant stood behind the door. He stabbed me in the leg with a 
sharp knife. A huge monster in the yard beat me with a big 
club. And up on the roof Justice sits. He kept calling, ' Throw 
the villain up here ! Throw the villain up here ! ' " 

When the robbers heard this they were — (How?) — too fright- 
ened to go there any more. They — (Did what?) — ^went far into 
the woods to build another home. 

So the four companions found their fortune and a home. — 
Adapted from Grimm. 

Development of the Story: 

(a) Tell me about the donkey. 

(b) "Why did he feel so sad and lonely? 

(c) What did he decide to do ? 

(d) Where did he go and what did he see ? 

(e) What did the dog say? 

(f) What did the dog and the donkey do? 

(g) Where did they see the cat? What was she doing? 
What did the donkey say to the cat? What did she 
say? 

(h) What was the rooster doing ? What did the donkey 
say to the rooster ? 

(1) What did the rooster tell them? 



TYPE STOEIES 81 

(j) What do you think of such masters and mistresses? 
Why? 

(k) Are such animals really worth keeping when they 
have outgrown their usefulness? 

(1) Are they not expensive? 

(m) Where did the four friends stop for the night? 

(n) What did the rooster see from his perch? When 
they followed this light what did they find ? How did they 
get the robbers out ? What did they do next ? 

(o) What happened to the robber who returned to in- 
vestigate ? 

(p) What effect did that have upon the fortunes of our 
four friends? 

A LITTLE R?D HEN 

A little red hen lived alone near a big wood. She had a wee 
little house, but it was large enough for her. She gathered seeds 
and berries for her food. She picked up sticks for her fire. She 
was quiet and gentle. She never harmed anyone in her life. She 
was a happy little hen. 

A crafty old fox lived near her. His home was a den in the 
rocks. He was very fond of chickens for his dinner. He lay 
awake one night planning how to get the little red hen. He 
wanted her for his dinner the next day. He prowled around all 
day trying to carry out his plans. 

The little red hen was too careful for the old fox to get her. 
She always looked about cautiously before leaving her little house. 
She always locked the door and put the key in her pocket when 
she went in. 

The old fox did not get her that time. 

The old fox watched and prowled and lay awake nights until 
he was just skin and bone. He longed to catch the little red hen 
and boil her, but he could not. 

At last a clever plan came into his wicked old head. He took 
a big bag and threw it over his shoulder. He called his mother 



82 LITERATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

and said : " Mother, have the big pot boiling when I come home. 
We shall have the little red hen for our dinner to-night." 

Away he went over the hills and through the woods. He crept 
slyly and softly to the house of the little red hen. At that very 
minute out stepped the little red hen. She began to pick up 
sticks for her fire. 

" Now I have you/' the old fox said to himself. He quickly 
stepped into the house and hid behind the door. 

In a little while in came the little red hen with her apron full 
of sticks. She shut the door, locked it, and put the key in her 
pocket. Then she turned around and saw the sly old fox in the 
corner. She dropped her sticks in great fright. Before the old 
fox could pounce upon her she flew up and perched on a beam 
above the door. The old fox could not get at her. 

" Ah, ha ! " said the fox, " I shall soon get you down." He 
began to whirl round and round faster and faster after his bushy 
tail. The little red hen became so dizzy looking at him that she 
fell off the beam. The fox snapped her up, popped her into the 
bag, and started home in a minute. 

The fox went up hill and down hill with the little red hen 
smothering in the bag. At first she didn't know where she was. 
She thought that she had surely been boiled and eaten. 

By and by she remembered the fox and discovered where she 
was. She put her hand in her pocket and took out her little 
bright pair of scissors. She cut a long slit in the bag. Then she 
reached out and picked up a stone. She put the stone inside and 
stepped out. Then she flew home and locked her little door. 

Meanwhile the fox toiled up the steep hill. The stone thumped 
at his back. He thought : " How heavy the little red hen is ! We 
shall have a fine dinner at her expense ! " 

Soon he came in sight of the den among the rocks. He spied 
his old mother watching for him at the door. He said : " Mother, 
have you the pot boiling ? " 

His mother said : " Yes ! Have you the little red hen ? '^ 

" Yes ! " said the fox, " here in my bag. Take the lid off the 
pot and I will put her in." 

The old mother fox lifted the lid off the pot. The sly rascal 



TYPE STORIES 83 

untied the bag and shook the big heavy stone into the pot of boil- 
ing water. The water splashed up all over the wily fox and his 
mother and scalded both to death. 

The little red hen lived quietly as before. She did her work, 
interfered with nobody, and so was happy and contented. 

If she hasn't died she lives there still. — Adapted from Mrs. 
Whitney's " Stories." 

Development of the Story: 

(a) Where and how did the little red hen live? 

(b) Who lived near her? What kind of neighbor was 
he? Why? 

(c) What did the old fox plan to do? 

(d) How did the little hen upset his plans? 

(e) What did he plan to do then? What did he tell his 
mother ? 

(f) What did the little red hen do when she found the 
sly, old fox in her house? 

(g) How did the fox get her down? 
(h) How did the little hen escape ? 

(i) What kept the sly, old fox from knowing that she had 
escaped ? 

(j) What happened when the sly, old fox got home? 

A ROBIN HOOD STORY 
ROBIN HOOD AND LITTLE JOHN 

(Motor and dramatic type — Physical courage) 

It was in the summer of long ago. Eobin Hood and his merry 
men roamed through Sherwood Forest. They dressed in Lincoln 
green. Robin carried a little silver horn. He blew upon it to 
call his men when any of them were in danger. 

The fame of Robin Hood and his men was soon known all over 
the land. Their deeds made the sheriff very angry. He tried 
many times, but always failed to catch them. 



84 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

At the first poor people were very much afraid of Robin Hood 
and his merry men. When they heard his bugle-call, they trem- 
bled with fear. They soon learned that Robin Hood meant no 
harm to them. 

Robin Hood said, " I plunder no poor man. I do not oppress 
the widow and orphan. I relieve the poor." 

The poor soon learned to love and trust him. 

Robin Hood rose early one fine morning. He threw his quiver 
over his shoulder. " This fresh breeze stirs my blood," said he. 
" My lads, I shall see what the gay world looks like toward Not- 
tingham town. Stay you behind in the borders of the forest. 
Keep within earshot of my bugle-call." 

Then he strode merrily to the edge of the wood. He paused 
there a moment. He stood erect and manly. His eyes watched 
the road. The wind blew his beautiful brown locks about. It 
blew a ruddy color into his cheeks. He was indeed a fine sight as 
he stood there. 

The road led to the town. He started boldly for it. Soon he 
came to a by-path that led across a brook. This way was nearer 
and less open. He turned down this by-path. 

He soon came to the stream. It was swollen by recent rain. 
It seemed a raging torrent. The long foot-bridge was still there. 
At one end was a big puddle of water. This he must leap or get 
his feet wet. 

Robin Hood did not mind a little thing like that. He made a 
running start. Then his nimble legs carried him over easily. He 
landed safely on the other side and started across the narrow foot- 
bridge. As he did so he saw a tall stranger coming from the 
other side. Robin quickened his pace. The stranger did so, too. 
Each wished to get across first. Midway they met. Neither 
would budge an inch. 

" Give way, fellow ! " roared Robin. 

The stranger smiled. He was a head taller than Robin. 

" Nay," he said, " fair and softly ! I only give way to a Ijetter 
man than myself." 

" Give way, I say," repeated Robin, " or I shall have to show 
you a better man." 



TYPE STORIES 85 

The stranger laughed loudly, but budged not an inch. " Now, 
by my halidom, I would not move after that speech," he said good- 
naturedly. " I have sought for this better man all my life. Show 
him to me if it pleases you." 

" That I will right soon," said Robin. " Stay you here a little 
while. I shall cut me a cudgel like the one you are twirling in 
your fingers." 

Robin laid aside his long bow and arrows. Then he returned 
to his own bank. He cut a stout cudgel of oak. It was six feet 
long, straight and knotless. But it was a foot shorter than the 
stranger's cudgel. 

Robin took his cudgel and went back boldly. He said, " I mind 
not telling you that a bout with archery would have been an easier 
way with me. But there are other tunes in England than that 
the arrow sings." So saying, Robin whirled the staff above his 
head. " Make ready for the tune I am about to play upon your 
ribs. Have at you ! One, two — " 

" Three ! " roared the stranger, smiting at him instantly. 

"Well was it for Robin that he was quick and nimble of foot. 
The blow that grazed his shoulder would have felled an ox. 
Robin dodged the blow and came back with a whack! 

Whack ! parried the other. 

Whack! Whack! Whack! Whack! 

The fight was fast and furious. 

The match was a merry one. 

The stranger was strong. His mighty blows whistled about 
Robin's head. 

Robin was nimble. He dodged the blows and gave the stranger 
some mighty whacks in the ribs. 

They stood in their places fighting for a good half hour. 
Neither would cry " Enough ! " Every blow seemed like to knock 
one or the other off the narrow bridge. 

The stranger's face was getting red. His breath came short 
and fast. He stepped forward to finish Robin with a blow. 

Robin dodged and again struck the stranger on the short ribs. 
It sounded like a tanner tanning a hide for market. The stranger 
staggered and almost fell. He regained his footing quickly. 



86 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

" By my life you can hit hard ! " he gasped. Then he gave a 
blow while he was yet staggering. 

This blow was a lucky one. It caught Robin off guard. He 
had lowered his stick for a moment. He had expected to see the 
stranger topple over into the water, when down came the stran- 
ger's stick upon his head with a mighty whack ! It made Robin 
see stars. He dropped off the bridge into the water. 

The cold water brought him to his senses. He groped blindly 
among the reeds. He tried to pull himself upon the bank. 

The stranger laughed heartily at Robin. Then he rushed to 
his aid. He thrust his long cudgel into the water. He said, 
" Lay hold of that if jovn fist whirl not as much as your 
head." 

Robin laid hold and was hauled to dry land. He came out like 
a fish. Only a fish would not have come out so wet and dripping. 
He lay panting on the warm bank. Then he sat up and rubbed 
his head. 

" You hit full stoutly," said he. " My head hums like a hive 
of bees on a summer morning." 

Then he seized his horn, which lay near him. He blew three 
shrill notes, which echoed against the trees. A moment of silence 
followed. 

Then was heard the rustling of leaves and the crackling of 
twigs. It sounded like the coming of many men. Then from the 
glade burst twenty men or more. They were all large and strong. 
They were dressed in Lincoln green. Will Stutely and the widow's 
three sons were at their head. 

"Good Master!" cried Will Stutely, "how is this? There is 
not a diy thread on your body ! " 

" Why," replied Robin, " this fellow would not let me pass the 
foot-bridge. I tickled him on the ribs. He answered by knock- 
ing me on the head. I fell overboard suddenly." 

" Then shall he taste some of his own porridge," said Will. 
" Seize him, lads ! " 

" Nay, let him go free," said Robin. " The fight was a fair one. 
I abide by it. I presume you are also quits? " said Robin, as he 
turned to the stranger with a twinkling eye. 



TYPE STOEIES 87 

" I am content. You now have the best end of the cudgel. 
But I like you well and would know your name." 

" Why," said Robin, " my men and even the sheriff know me 
as Robin Hood, the outlaw." 

" I am sorry that I beat you," exclaimed the stranger. " I was 
on my way to join you and your merry men. Now I fear we are 
still strangers." 

" Never say it ! " cried Robin. " I am glad I fell in with you, 
— though I did all of the falling." 

All the men laughed as Robin and the stranger clasped hands. 
And so the strong friendship of a lifetime was begun. 

" But you have not yet told me your name," cried Robin. 

" Where I come from men call me John Little." 

" Enter our company, then, John Little. Enter and welcome. 
The rites are few. The fee is large. We ask your whole body 
and mind and heart even unto death." 

" I give my service even unto death," said John Little. 

Thereupon Will Stutely, who loved a good joke, said : " The 
baby of our family must be christened. I'll be his godfather. 
This fair little stranger is too small of bone and muscle 
for his old name." Here he paused to fill a horn in the 
stream. 

Then he stood on tiptoe to splash the water on the giant. 
" Hear you, my son, take your new name on entering the forest. 
I christen you Little John." 

At this jest the men laughed loud and long. 

" Give him a bow and find him a full quiver of arrows," said 
Robin, merrily. " Can you shoot as well as you can fence with 
the cudgel?" 

" I have hit an ash twig at forty yards," said Little John. 

Thus chatting pleasantly, the band of men turned into the for- 
est. They followed a path that led where trees were thickest and 
moss softest. This path led to a secret cave. This was the hid- 
ing place of Robin Hood and his merry men. 

Here they found the rest of the band. Some had come in with 
two fat deer. They built a ruddy fire and sat down to eat and 
drink. 



88 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

Kobin sat in the center. Will Stutely was on one side of him. 
Little John was on the other. 

Robin said, " I am well pleased with the day's adventure. Sore 
ribs and heads will heal. It is not every day I find a man as stout 
of body and true of soul as Little John." — Adapted from " Bobin 
Hood " by T. Walker McSpadden. 



©art XTwo 

CHAPTER VI 
PSYCHOLOGY AND THE READING PROBLEM 

Two controlling ideas dominate the work of the 
public schools: the one, the development of the 
individual in the educative process; and the other, 
the mastering of the subject matter. At just what 
point these two ideas coordinate themselves is a 
mooted question. Certain it is that the idea of in- 
formation as the sole end and aim cannot be justi- 
fied below the college or university. It seems 
equally certain that development as the sole end and 
aim cannot justify itself above the kindergarten and 
primary grades. The relationship of form and con- 
tent is such that the fulness of the one demands the 
recognition and support of the other. 

More than one earnest educator who has noted the 
alertness, the originality, the resourcefulness of the 
street Arab, and who has noted also the pitiful lack 
of resourcefulness, of initiative, of originality and 
alertness on the part of many a boy with every ad- 
vantage of school, has voiced the opinion that some- 
how the school does not give the necessary experi- 
ences to develop the desirable traits which the street 



90 LITEEATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

Arab seems to possess, that it does not articulate in 
a vital way with social and economic life. If one re- 
flects upon the conditions presented for the develop- 
ment of the schoolboy and also for the development 
of the street Arab, he will note that the conditions 
surrounding the schoolboy are determined, selected, 
organized and systematized. The conditions sur- 
rounding the boy of the street are unorganized and 
unsystematized and are without selection and deter- 
mination. He will thus note that conditions exter- 
nal are in favor of the boy of the school. The differ- 
ence, then, must be in the manner and intensity of 
response to the conditions of the environment. The 
street Arab responds with his whole self, every 
phase and form of mind are alert, active, responsive. 
Perception, memory, judgment, reason and will are 
all stimulated, exercised, developed. Starting from 
imitation with this response, he changes, fashions, 
originates; he takes the initiative; he forces con- 
clusions. 

The schoolboy, all too often, is on a low respon- 
sive plane. His whole being is not alert. Verbal 
memory dominates his mental activities. He crams 
verbal memory, responds from verbal memory, is 
measured and graded by virtue of verbal memory. 
His whole mind is not actively and organically at 
work. In each recitation his imagination is not 
kindled, his memory is not alert classifying and 
determining, his judgment is not sure, his reason 
is not keen, his will is not actively choosing and 
directing. He is responsive in a passive sense 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE BEADING PEOBLEM 91 

only. Splendid exceptions there are to this unfor- 
tunate condition which merely defines the boy with 
whom the street Arab is compared, to the credit of 
the latter. 

It is the aim of the remainder of this chapter and 
of subsequent chapters to suggest a method of teach- 
ing literature which will present ideals worthy of 
imitation and which will rise above the mere plane 
of word perception or verbal memory and which will 
aspire to run the gamut of the mind from sensation 
to will. This method will be suggested and exempli- 
fied through concrete illustrations. 

From the standpoint of subject matter in any 
study, the child should be approaching a conscious 
recognition of the basic principles which give being 
to the subject, and he should also be approaching the 
mastery of those principles. He should be able to 
recognize the application of those principles in a set 
mode and should be able to recognize the control of 
the conditions by the principles. Finally, he should 
become master of the principles in their application 
to daily life. From the standpoint of development, 
the child is the subject; the subject matter is the 
means ; the end is to give the child self-control, self- 
assurance or self-reliance, and self-direction. Or 
stated in other terms, the child is the subject to be 
taught, his development is the desired end and aim ; 
the subject matter is the means by which and 
through which the development is to be effected; 
teaching is the making of conditions through the 
presentation of subject matter whereby the mind, 



92 LITEEATUEE IN" THE SCHOOL 

through its own activity and according to its own 
law, may unfold rationally and economically. The 
teaching aim is to start with the child's experiences; 
to give new experiences; to develop power to dis- 
cover causal relations and to move with accuracy 
and precision from cause to effect; to discover and 
to formulate principles about which subject matter 
organizes itself; to acquire facility and precision in 
interpreting conditions in which principles are in- 
volved, and to make the application of principles to 
the needs of daily life. In this general teaching aim, 
the claim, and the justification of the claim, of form 
and content are to be found. 

A few book psychologists to the contrary notwith- 
standing, the teacher is the true psychologist. Her 
mission is to know the laws of mind movement; to 
know how the mind comes to possess ideas and to be 
possessed by ideas ; to know how to present her sub- 
ject matter in harmony with that movement and 
with those laws. Psychology from the standpoint of 
the teacher is the science of the laws of mind and an 
exposition of the manner of mind movement. Too 
many teachers there are who think their psychology 
as mere book psychology, think of it as made up of 
an arbitrary number of chapters dealing with sensa- 
tions, perceptions, memory, imagination, etc. — a 
thing proper enough for the student of psychology 
in the classroom, but foreign to the classroom from 
the standpoint of the teacher of any other subject. 
This attitude on the part of many teachers, and even 
of some psychologists themselves, has done more to 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE EEADIITG PEOBLEM 93 

retard the placing of teaching upon a professional 
basis than any other one factor: 

A profession demands a mastery of the technique 
of its subject matter and an ability to forecast the 
outcome from the given data. The lawyer who 
knows his law and the facts and precedents pertain- 
ing thereto, will estimate the importance of the facts 
in the case and, if he be honest and competent, will 
forecast the outcome with accuracy and precision. 
The oculist will make his tests on the eye and, if he 
be efficient and reliable, will prescribe the proper 
treatment for that organ. The skilled physi- 
cian and surgeon will make his diagnosis, pre- 
scribe the remedy and relief will follow. When 
the skilled teacher can forecast the outcome of 
a given presentation on a normal mind, and can 
so adjust her subject matter in harmony with the 
laws of mind that the forecasted outcome will inev- 
itably follow, she, too, will take her place among 
the professionals, and will no longer classify her- 
self as a quack nor allow others so to classify 
her. 

The psychology of the teacher, then, is essentially 
of the mind — not foreign to or supplementary of 
the mind. The sensations of psychology are merely 
the things attended to by the mind or to which the 
mind may attend under any and all conditions. 
School is an institution that aims to determine just 
what sensations shall claim the attention of the 
mind. These sensations may be caused by the plant 
or animal under observation, the problem up for so- 



94 LITEEATUEE IIST THE SCHOOL 

lution, or the poem to be analyzed and read. Per- 
ception is the being, the individuality, given to the 
thing from which the individual sensation emanated. 
It is a product of consciousness arrived at through 
attending the sensations presented to the mind. The 
concept is the general body of knowledge made up 
of previous experiences through sensations deter- 
mined and classified. Memory is the link which 
unites the old body of knowledge with the new ex- 
perience. It is stimulated to activity by the appeal 
of the new thing placed in relation to the mind. The 
new thing of itself calls up old experiences which 
relate to it through its demand upon the mind for 
recognition and classification. Judgment is the con- 
clusion of the mind regarding this individual, this 
new item of experience or knowledge. It is the in- 
ference reached from previous experiences and the 
given data. Eeason is the comparison and relation 
of judgment with judgment by means of which the 
idea of the organic whole is reached. Will is the 
choice of the determining factors. To present any 
subject with force and intelligence the teacher must 
so arrange her work, must so plan her presentation, 
that the gamut of the mind, from sensation to will, 
will be run by the developing mind. Through the 
greatest intensity and diversity does the mind come 
to its fullest development. This, in a very brief 
way, is the psychology of mind movement, the prob- 
lem of the schoolroom, the determinant of its meth- 
ods. No lesson performs its fullest function which 
does not make provision for the exercise of each and 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE EEADING PROBLEM 95 

every phase of mind movement, and tlius aim to 
insure a rational, harmonious, all-around devel- 
opment. 

Suggested Studies: 

I 

THE SANDPIPER 

Across the narrow beach we flit, 

One little sandpiper and I, 
And fast I gather, bit by bit, 

The scattered driftwood bleached and dry. 
The wild waves reach their hands for it, 

The wild wind raves, the tide runs high, 
As Tip and down the beach we flit, — 

One little sandpiper and I. 

Above our heads the sullen clouds 

Scud black and swift across the sky; 
Like silent ghosts in misty shrouds 

Stand out the white lighthouses high. 
Almost as far as eye can reach 

I see the close-reefed vessels fly. 
As fast we flit across the beach, — 

One little sandpiper and I. 

I watch him as he skims along. 

Uttering his sweet and mournful cry. 
He starts not at my fitful song. 

Or flash of fluttering drapery. 
He has no thought of any wrong; 

He scans me witlf a fearless eye. 
Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong, 

The little sandpiper and I. 



96 LiTEEATtJRE IN THE SCHOOL 

Comrade, where wilt tliou be to-night 

When the loosed storm breaks furiously? 
My driftwood fire will burn so bright! 

To what warm shelter canst thou fly? 
I do not fear for thee, though wroth 

The tempest rushes through the sky: 
For are we not God'3 children both, 

Thou, little sandpiper, and I? 

— Celia Thaxter 

Thought Analysis: 

Picture ocean, beach, and gathering storm. 

Note the picture on the narrow beach, the sandpiper flit- 
ting about, the maiden gathering driftwood. 

Meaning of driftwood. How does it become '' bleached 
and dry? " 

Note the effect in the picture of the seeming conflict be- 
tween the wind and waves on one hand, and the maiden and 
sandpiper on the other. 

Note the picture of the beach and sky and sea, the hurry- 
ing storm-clouds, the ghost-like lighthouses, the close-reefed 
vessels. 

Meaning of lighthouses, scud, close-reefed. 

Place maiden and sandpiper in the picture, and note their 
movements and songs, the plaintive cry of the sandpiper, 
the maiden's response, their attitude toward and effect 
upon each other. Significance of this feeling. 

Meaning of 

" Stanch friends are we, well tried and strong." 

Note the apparent solicitude of the maiden in her ques- 
tions, — 

"To what warm shelter canst thou fly?" 
Note also her faith and trust in the lines, — 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE BEADING PEOBLEM 97 

" I do not fear for thee, though wroth 
The tempest rushes through the skyj 
For are we not God's children both, 
Thou, little sandpiper, and IV 

Suggested Questions on the Text: 

What characters are talked of in the poem ? Where are 
they? 

Which line tells what they are doing ? 

What is the maiden doing ? In what manner ? 

The wild waves do what ? 

The winds do what ? 

The tide does what ? 

When is all this done ? 

What are above their heads ? 

What are the clouds doing? 

How do the lighthouses stand out ? 

How far are the vessels seen? 

What kind of vessels are they? Doing what? 

This is done as the author and the sandpiper do what ? 

What does the maiden say of the sandpiper ? What does 
he do? 

Which lines tell of the sandpiper's attitude toward the 
maiden ? 

Why doesn't he show fear? 

How does the sandpiper observe the maiden ? 

Why does he do so? 

What question does the maiden ask? Why? 

Which line tells of her comfortable shelter ? 

What does she ask of him? 

What does she say of him? 

Why does she think so ? 



LITERATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 
II 

THE CHALLENGE OF THOR 

I am the God Thor, 
I am the War God, 
I am the Thunderer! 
Here in my Northland, 
My fastness and fortress, 
Reign I forever! 

Here amid icebergs 
Rule I the nations; 
This is my hammer, 
Miolner the mighty; 
Giants and sorcerers 
Cannot withstand it! 

These are the gauntlets 
Wherewith I wield it. 
And hurl it afar off; 
This is my girdle; 
Whenever I brace it. 
Strength is redoubled! 

The light thou beholdest 
Stream through the heavens, 
In flashes of crimson, 
Is but my red beard 
Blown by the night wind 
Affrighting the nations! 

Jove is my brother; 

Mine eyes are the lightning; 

The wheels of my chariot 

Roll in the thunder, 

The blows of my hammer 

Ring in the earthquake! 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE BEADING PROBLEM 99 

Force rules the world still, 
Has ruled it, shall rule it; 
Meekness is weakness, 
Strength is triumphant, 
Over the whole earth 
Still is it Thor's Day! 
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow : " The Saga of King Olaf " 

Thought Analysis: 

Picture the isolated, frost-bound Northland with its snow 
and icebergs. Note the gigantic Thor standing on these 
heights and thundering to the nations of the earth. Note 
his introduction of himself, the location of his home, brief 
description, and statement of what he does. 

Why does he repeat this last idea in the lines: 

" Here amid icebergs 
Rule I the nations ; " ? 

Note the symbols of his power, the hammer, the gauntlets, 
the girdle, and the effect and significance of each. 

Picture the northern lights, their movement and effect. 
Note his explanation of this light and the purpose of same. 

Suggested Questions: 

What three things does Thor say of himself in his intro- 
duction ? 

He says he is where ? 

What does he call his Northland ? 

He says he does what there? 

What are all about him in his Northland? 

What does he do amid them? 

What does he say of his hammer ? 

What does he say of his gauntlets ? 



100 LITERATUKB IIT THE SCHOOL. 

What does he say of his girdle ? 

What is meant by ' ' thou beholdest ? " 

What does he say the light is ? 

What causes it? 

What effect has it on the nations ? 

Who is Jove? 

What are Thor's eyes? 

What is the thunder ? 

What is the earthquake ? 

What does he say of Force? of Meekness? of Strength? 

What boast does he make ? 

The thouglit analysis as suggested in these studies 
should always precede any attempt to read or mem- 
orize a poem. The thought analysis is but an at- 
tempt to make a sharp and fitting association be- 
tween form and content, and any reading or memory 
work worthy of the name must establish and pre- 
serve this association. Furthermore, the study of 
content through form intensifies both form and con- 
tent and greatly reduces the time and energy re- 
quired for memory work. 

Teachers may be surprised to know that many 
classes will give a poem from memory after a study 
and reading if the teachers will but follow some such 
plan as indicated in the suggested questions. Little 
extra time and effort will be required to make the 
poem the possession of each individual. Of all the 
useless and inexcusable drudgery imposed upon 
children the most pernicious, inexcusable and use- 
less is the memorizing of poems by rote — with 
rhyme but without reason. 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE READING PROBLEM 101 

III 

THE SOLITARY REAPER 



Behold her, single in the field, 
Yon solitary Highland Lass ! 
Reaping and singing to herself; 

Stop here, or gently pass! 
Alone she cuts and binds the grain, 
And sings a melancholy strain; 
Oh, listen ! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound. 



No nightingale did ever chant 
More welcome notes to weary bands 
Of travelers in some shady haunt. 

Amid Arabian sands: 
A voice so thrilling ne'er was heard 
In springtime from the cuckoo bird. 
Breaking the silence of the seas 
Among the farthest Hebrides. 



Will no one tell me what she sings? 
Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow 
For old, unhappy, far-of£ things. 

And battles long ago : 
Or is it some more humble lay, 
Familiar matter of to-day? 
Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, 
That has been, and may be again? 



102 LITEEATUBE IN" THE SCHOOL 

Whate'er the theme, the maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending; 
I saw her singing at her work, 
And o'er the sickle bending; — 
I listened, motionless and still; 
And, as I mounted up the hill, 
The music in my heart I bore, 
Long after it was heard no more. 

— Wordsworth 

In the thougM analysis of the poem the teacher 
must center the mind upon the detailed thought 
which unified makes up the organic whole. To direct 
the attention is to arouse the curiosity and to stim- 
ulate the interest. The analysis and meaning are 
within the poem, not without. So, too, are all the 
facts and factors. The teacher must keep in mind 
that the reader, not the poem, is the exhaustible 
quantity. She must press the analysis to the limits 
of class capacity, and may then supplement accord- 
ing to the needs of the poem or the interest and 
ambition of the class. The manner in which the 
author's thought unfolds itself, is the key to the 
method and manner of analysis. To illustrate : 

"Behold her" is addressed to the reader for the purpose 
of arousing the curiosity and of directing the interest. 
This curiosity, the genesis of interest, is directed to the 
solitary maiden who reaps and sings to herself. The ex- 
pression "Highland Lass" locates the maiden in place. It 
calls to mind the peculiar costume of the Highland Scotch, 
and at the same time suggests the rugged, mountainous 
country with which that costume is associated. The ' ' reap- 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE BEADING PEOBLEM 103 

ing" locates the time in season. The first three lines then 
set the theme in time and place. 

The reference to the ' ' Highland Lass ' ' is suggestive of a 
field of golden grain lying in a valley on either side of which 
lie vine-clad hills and rugged peaks, the highest of which 
perhaps tower above the snow line. Over valley, foot-hills 
and towering peaks, stretches the infinite, cloud-flecked sky. 
Over all the landscape the checkered sunshine and shadows 
play. The significance of the picture is to define clearly the 
individual setting in which the author finds his theme. 

In the fourth line the poet turns the attention from the 
maiden and her setting to the quality of the song which 
she sings. He intensifies our interest in the singing by the 
evident reluctance to permit an , interruption as evidenced 
in the line 

" Stop here, or gently pass." 

After the attention has been transferred to the quality of 
the singing the poet-artist turns the attention back to her 
task in order to emphasize especially the quality of her sing- 
ing by contrasting the drudgery of her labor with the uplift 
of her song. The nature of the music is suggested by the 
word ''melancholy" to picture the harmony between her 
feelings and the loneliness of her surroundings. This lone- 
liness has been emphasized by the repeated expressions: 
"single," ''solitary," and "alone." 

The poet then forcibly directs the attention to the song, 
in the lines : 

" Oh, listen ! for the vale profound 
Is overflowing with the sound." 

The quality of this singing is held before the mind by the 
comparisons which the poet makes between this wild out- 
burst of melody and other melodies piped or sung under the 



104 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

most favorable conditions for impressing the hearers with 
their sweetness and beauty. The notes of the maiden are first 
compared to the notes of the nightingale as she sings to a 
weary, thirsty, travel-stained band of travelers who have 
journeyed all day under the burning sun over the hot and 
pitiless Arabian desert. Her notes, suggestive of the oasis 
with its shelter from the sun, and water to quench the thirst, 
will seem at their sweetest and best. The notes of the sweet- 
singing nightingale under the most favorable circumstances 
do not surpass the notes of the solitary maiden in sweetness 
and uplift. Thus the quality of the maiden 's singing is in- 
tensified by the contrast. 

This quality of the maiden 's singing is still further inten- 
sified by a comparison with the notes of the cuckoo hailing 
the advent of spring among the northern islands after 
the frosts and cold and storms of winter. The cuckoo's 
notes now seem at their sweetest and best because of 
their suggestiveness of the approach of the springtime, 
but the song of the maiden is more beautiful, and again the 
quality of the singing has been intensified by contrast. 
These comparisons signify that the most musical of nature 's 
melodies have seldom equalled, and have never surpassed 
the wild beauty of the maiden 's song. Thus the highest in- 
tensity is given to the maiden 's singing. 

At this point in the poem the poet anticipates the reader's 
wish and asks, "Will no one tell me what she sings?" In 
the use of the word ' ' perhaps " as he attempts to answer his 
question and ours, the poet hints that he doesn't know the 
theme of that particular bit of music, and suggests that the 
universal flow of music from the soul, not the particular 
embodiment, is the all-important. The poet suggests that 
the maiden may be singing a song of national defeat in 
battle or a lamentation for the fallen heroes. He also sug- 
gests that her loss may be personal, not national ; it may be 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE BEADING PKOBLEM 105 

a family loss through death; or family ties may have been 
broken through separations. All of these themes are melan- 
choly in nature and are therefore suggested. 

The poet re-emphasizes his lack of knowledge of the indi- 
vidual theme by the lines: 

" Whatever the theme, the maiden sang 
As if her song could have no ending," 

and brings to mind forcibly that the uplift is in the singing, 
not in the song. 

The effect of the song is pictured in the lines: 

" I listened, motionless and still, 
And as I mounted up the hill. 
The music in my heart I bore." 

The poem as a whole attests to the triumph of the spirit 
over the material limitations and conditions of life. It 
witnesses, too, the influence which one individual has upon 
another in stimulating him to the higher things in life. 
For example : 



and 



"I listened, motionless and still," 



" The music in my heart I bore 
Long after it was heard no more." 



The teacher may find it profitable to contrast the final 
thought with the central thought in Emerson's ''Each and 
All. ' ' The significance of the following lines may profit by 
the comparison : 

" Nor knowest thou what argument 
Thy life to thy neighbor's creed has lent." 



106 LITEKATUKE IN" THE SCHOOL 

The following lines from Dunbar 's humbler note may also 
be called up for comparison : 

" Sometimes the sun, unkindly hot, 
My garden makes a desert spot; 
Sometimes a blight upon the tree 
Takes all my fruit away from me, — 
And then with throes of bitter pain, 
Rebellious passions rise and swell — 
But — Life is more than fruit and grain — 
And so I sing and all is well." 

Questions Suggested for Directing the Study of the Text: 

'' Behold her " is addressed to whom and for what pur- 
pose? 

To what is the attention next directed ? 

How does the poet picture this solitary maiden more 
vividly ? 

The first three lines of the poem have what bearing on 
the theme? 

"What is the significance of the picture as thus defined ? 

What is the significance of the fourth line? 

How does the poet intensify the interest in the singing? 

Why does he repeat the fact of her doing? 

How is the nature of the music suggested and why ? 

How has this loneliness been emphasized? 

How is the attention again centered upon the singing ? 

In what manner is the quality of the singing held before 
the mind ? 

To what are the notes of the maiden first compared ? 

What is the significance of the contrast? 

With what other singing is the maiden's compared and 
under what conditions ? 

What is the significance of these comparisons ? 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE READING PROBLEM 107 

How does the poet anticipate tlie reader? 

What is the significance of the word ''perhaps"? 

What suggestions are made concerning the theme? 

Why are these suggestions made? 

How does the poet emphasize his lack of knowledge of 
the particular theme? Why? 

How does the poet indicate the effect of the song? 

What is the significance of the poem as a whole ? 

What is the value of comparing the central thought of 
the poem with other poems ? 

How may the poem be most economically and effectively 
memorized after the thought analysis has been made ? 

What is the value of memorizing any poem ? 

WTiat may be the outcome of constantly associating 
elevated thought with artistic form ? 

IV 
THE DAY IS DONE 

(Study and Contrast) 

The day is done and the darkness 

Falls from the wings of Night, 
[A.S a feather is wafted downward 

From an eagle in his flight. 

I see the lights of the village 

Gleam through the rain and the mist, 

And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me 
That my soul cannot resist: 

A feeling of sadness and longing, 

That is not akin to pain, 
And resembles sorrow only 

As the mist resembles the rain. 



108 LITEEATURB IN THE SCHOOL 

Come, read to me some poem, 

Some simple and heartfelt lay, 
That shall soothe this restless feeling, 

And banish the thoughts of day. 

Not from the grand old masters. 

Not from the bards sublime. 
Whose distant footsteps echo 

Through the corridors of Time. 

For, like strains of martial music. 

Their mighty thoughts suggest 
Life's endless toil and endeavor; 

And to-night I long for rest. 

Read from some humbler poet, 

Whose songs gushed from his heart, 

As showers from the clouds of summer, 
Or tears from the eyelids start; 

Who through long days of labor, 

And nights devoid of ease, 
Still heard in his soul the music 

Of wonderful melodies. 

Such songs have power to quiet 

The restless pulse of care, 
And come like a benediction 

That follows after prayer. 

Then read from the treasured volume 

The poem of thy choice, 
And lend to the rhyme of the poet 

The beauty of thy voice. 

And the night shall be filled with music, 
And the cares, that infest the day. 

Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, 
And silently steal away. 

— Longfellow 



PSYCHOLOGY AND THE BEADING PROBLEM 109 

V 

THE DAFFODILS 

I wandered lonely as a cloud 

That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 

When all at once I saw a crowd, 

A host, of golden daffodils; 

Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way. 
They stretched in never ending line 
Along the margin of a bay: 
Ten thousand saw I at a glance, 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced; but they 

Out-did the sparkling waves in glee; 

A poet could not but be gay, 

In such a jocund company: 

I gazed and gazed — ^but little thought 

What wealth the show to me had brought: 

For oft, when on my couch I lie 
In vacant or in pensive mood. 
They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bliss of solitude; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills. 
And dances with the daffodils. 

— Wordsworth 



CHAPTER Vn 

THE GREAT STONE FACE 

One afternoon when the sun was going down, a mother and her 
little boy sat at the door of their cottage, talking about the Great 
Stone Face. They had but to lift their eyes, and there it was 
plainly to be seen, though miles away, with the sunshine brighten- 
ing all its features. 

And what was the Great Stone Face"? The Great Stone Face 
was a work of Nature in her mood of majestic playfulness 
formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain by some immense 
rocks, which had been thrown together in such a position as, when 
viewed at a proper distance, precisely to resemble the features 
of the human countenance. It seemed as if an enormous giant, or 
a Titan, had sculptured his own likeness on the precipice. There 
was the broad arch of the forehead, a hundred feet in height; 
the nose, with its long bridge; and the vast lips, which, if they 
could have spoken, would have rolled their thunder accents from 
one end of the valley to the other. 

It was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or 
womanhood with the Great Stone Face before their eyes, for all 
the features were noble, and the expression was at once grand 
and sweet, as if it were the glow of a vast, warm heart, that em- 
braced all mankind in its affections, and had room for more. 

As we began with saying, a mother and her little boy sat at 
their cottage door, gazing at the Great Stone Face, and talking 
about it. The child's name was Ernest. "Mother," said he, while 
the Titanic visage smiled on him, " I wish that it could speak 
for it looks so very kindly that its voice must be pleasant. If 
I were to see a man with such a face, I should love him dearly." 

"If an old prophecy should come to pass," answered his mother, 



THE GEEAT STONE FACE 111 

" we may see a man, some time or other, with exactly such a face 
as that." 

" What prophecy do you mean, dear mother? " eagerly inquired 
Ernest. " Pray tell me all about it ! " 

So his mother told him a story that her own mother had told to 
her, when she herself was younger than little Ernest; a story, 
not of thing's that were past, but of what was yet to come ; a story, 
nevertheless, so very old that even the Indians, who formerly in- 
habited this valley, had heard it from their forefathers, to whom, 
they believed, it had been murmured by the mountain streams, 
and whispered by the wind among the tree-tops. The story said 
that at some future day a child should be born hereabouts who 
was destined to become the gTeatest and noblest man of his time, 
and whose countenance, in manhood, should bear an exact re- 
semblance to the Great Stone Face. 

" mother, dear mother ! " cried Ernest, clapping his hands 
above his head, " I do hope that I shall live to see him ! " His 
mother was an affectionate and thoughtful woman, and felt that it 
was wisest not to discourage the hopes of her little boy. She only 
said to him, " Perhaps you may." 

And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. 
It was always in his mind whenever he looked upon the Great 
Stone Pace. He spent his childhood in the log cottage where he 
was born, and was dutiful to his mother, and helpful to her in 
many things, assisting her much with his little hands, and more 
with his loving heart. In this manner, from the happy yet 
thoughtful child, he grew to be a mild, quiet, modest boy, sun- 
browned with labor in the fields, but with more intelligence in his 
face than is seen in many lads who have been taught at famous 
schools. Yet Ernest had no teacher, save only that the Great 
Stone Face became one to him. When the toil of the day was 
over, he would gaze at it for hours, until he began to imagine 
that those features recognized him, and gave him a smile of kind- 
ness and encouragement in response to his own look of venera- 
tion. We must not take upon us to affirm that this was a mis- 
take, although the Face may have looked no more kindly at 
Ernest than at all the world besides. For the secret was that the 



112 LITERATUKE IN" THE SCHOOL 

boy's tender simplicity discerned what other people could not 
see; and thus the love, which was meant for all, became his alone. 

About this time, there went a rumor throughout the valley that 
the great man, foretold from ages long ago, who was to bear a re- 
semblance to the Great Stone Face, had appeared at last. It 
seems that, many years before, a young man had left the valley 
and settled at a distant seaport, where, after getting together a 
little money, he had set up as a shopkeeper. His name — but 
I could never learn whether it was his real one, or a nickname that 
had grown out of his habits and success in life — ^was Gathergold. 

It might be said of him, as of Midas in the fable, that what- 
ever he touched with his finger immediately glistened, and grew 
yellow, and was changed at once into coin. And when Mr. Gath- 
ergold had become so rich that it would have taken him a hun- 
dred years only to count his wealth, he bethought himself of his 
native valley and resolved to go back thither, and end his days 
where he was born. With this purpose in view, he sent a skilful 
architect to build him such a palace as should be fit for a man of 
his vast wealth to live in. 

As I have said above, it had already been rumored in the valley 
that Mr. Gathergold had turned out to be the person so long and 
vainly looked for, and that his visage was the perfect and un- 
deniable likeness of the Great Stone Face. People were the more 
ready to believe that this must needs be the fact when they beheld 
the splendid edifice that rose, as if by enchantment, on the site of 
his father's old weather-beaten farmhouse. The exterior was of 
marble, so dazzling white that it seemed as though the whole struc- 
ture might melt ajvay in the sunshine, like those humbler ones 
which Mr. Gathergold, in his young playdays, had been accus- 
tomed to build of snow. It had a richly ornamented portico, sup- 
ported by tall pillars, beneath which was a lofty door studded 
with silver knobs, and made of a kind of variegated wood that had 
been brought from beyond the seas. The windows, from the 
floor to the ceiling of each stately apartment, were each com- 
posed of but one enormous pane of glass. Hardly anybody had 
been permitted to see the interior of this palace; but it was re- 
ported to be far more gorgeous than the outside, insomuch that 



THE GEEAT STONE FACE 113 

whatever was iron or brass in other houses was silver or gold in 
this; and Mr. Gathergold's bedchamber, especially, made such a 
glittering appearance that no ordinary man would have been able 
to close his eyes there. But, on the other hand, Mr. Gathergold 
was now so accustomed to wealth that perhaps he could not have 
closed his eyes unless where the gleam of it was certain to find its 
way beneath his eyelids. 

In due time, the mansion was finished; next came the uphol- 
sterers, with magnificent furniture; then a whole troop of black 
and white servants, the harbingers of Mr. Gathergold, who, in 
his own majestic person, was expected to arrive at sunset. Our 
friend Ernest, meanwhile, had been deeply stirred by the idea 
that the great man, the noble man, the man of prophecy, after so 
many ages of delay, was at length to appear in his native val- 
ley. He knew, boy as he was, that there were a thousand ways 
in which Mr. Gathergold, with his vast wealth, might transform 
himself into an angel of beneficence, and assume a control over 
human affairs as wide and benignant as the smile of the Great 
Stone Face. Full of faith and hope, Ernest doubted not that 
what the people said was true, and that now he was to behold 
the living likeness of those wondrous features on the mountain 
side. While the boy was still gazing up the valley, and fancying, 
as he always did, that the Great Stone Face returned his gaze 
and looked kindly at him, the rumbling of wheels was heard, ap- 
proaching swiftly along the winding road. 

" Here he comes ! " cried a group of people who were assembled 
to witness the arrival. " Here comes the great Mr. Gathergold ! " 

A carriage, drawn by four horses, dashed rormd the turn of 
the road. Within it, thrust partly out of the window, appeared 
the face of a little old man, with a skin as yellow as gold. He 
had a low forehead, small, sharp eyes, puckered about with in- 
numerable wrinkles, and very thin lips, which he made still thinner 
by pressing them forcibly together. 

" The very image of the Great Stone Face !" shouted the people. 
" Sure enough, the old prophecy is true ; and the great man has 
come at last ! " 

And, what greatly perplexed Ernest, they seemed actually to 



114 LITERATUHB IN" THE SCHOOL 

believe that here was the likeness which they spoke of. By the 
roadside there chanced to be an old beggar woman and two little 
beggar children, stragglers from some far-off region, who, as the 
carriage rolled onward, held out their hands and lifted up their 
doleful voices, most piteously beseeching charity. A yellow claw 
— the very same that had clawed together so much wealth — poked 
itself out of the coach window, and dropped some copper coins 
upon the ground; so that, though the great man's name seems to 
have been Gathergold, he might just as suitably have been nick- 
named Scattercopper. Still, nevertheless, with an earnest shout, 
and evidently with as much good faith as ever, the people bel- 
lowed : 

" He is the very image of the Great Stone Face ! " 
But Ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled shrewdness of that 
visage and gazed up the valley, where, amid a gathering mist, 
gilded by the last sunbeams, he could still distinguish those glori- 
ous features which had impressed themselves into his soul. Their 
aspect cheered him. What did the benign lips seem to say? 
" He will come ! Fear not, Ernest ; the man will come ! " 
The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy. He had 
grown to be a young man now. He attracted little notice from 
the other inhabitants of the valley, for they saw nothing remark- 
able in his way of life, save that, when the labor of the day was 
over, he still loved to go apart, and gaze and meditate upon the 
Great Stone Face. According to their idea of the matter, how- 
ever, it was a pardonable folly, for Ernest was industrious, kind, 
and neighborly, and neglected no duty for the sake of this idle 
habit. They knew not that the Great Stone Face had become a 
teacher to him, and that the sentiment which was expressed in it 
would enlarge the young man's heart, and fill it with wider and 
deeper sjonpathies than other hearts. They knew not that thence 
would come a better wisdom than could be learned from books, 
and a better life than could be molded on the example of other 
human lives. Neither did Ernest know that the thoughts and 
affections which came to him so naturally, in the fields and at the 
fireside, were of a higher tone than those which all men shared 
with him. A simple soul, — simple as when his mother first taught 



THE GKEAT STONE FACE 115 

him the old prophecy, — ^he beheld the marvelous features beaming 
down the valley, and still wondered that their human counterpart 
was so long in making his appearance. 

By this time poor Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried ; and the 
oddest part of the matter was that his wealth, which was the body 
and spirit of his existence, had disappeared before his death, leav- 
ing nothing of him but a living skeleton, covered over with a wrin- 
kled, yellow skin. Since the melting away of his gold, it had been 
very generally conceded that there was no such striking resem- 
blance, after all, betwixt the ignoble features of the ruined mer- 
chant and that majestic face upon the mountain side. So the peo- 
ple ceased to honor him during his lifetime, and quietly forgot him 
after his decease. Once in a while, it is true, his memory was 
brought up in connection with the magnificent palace which he 
had built, and which had long ago been turned into a hotel for the 
accommodation of strangers, multitudes of whom came, every 
summer, to visit that famous natural curiosity, the Great Stone 
Face. The man of prophecy was yet to come. 

It so happened that a native-born son of the valley many years 
before, had enlisted as a soldier, and, after a great deal of hard 
fighting, had now become an illustrious commander. Whatever 
he may be called in history, he was known in camps and on the 
battlefield under the nickname of Old Blood-and-Thunder. This 
war-worn veteran, being now weary of a military life, and of the 
roll of the drum and the clangor of the trumpet that had so long 
been ringing in his ears, had lately signified a purpose of return- 
ing to his native valley, hoping to find repose where he remem- 
bered to have left it. The inhabitants, his old neighbors and their 
grown-up children, were resolved to welcome the renowned war- 
rior with a salute of cannon and a public dinner ; and all the more 
enthusiastically because it was believed that at last the likeness 
of the Great Stone Face had actually appeared. A friend of Old 
Blood-and-Thunder, traveling through the valley, was said to have 
been struck Avith the resemblance. Moreover, the schoolmates and 
early acquaintances of the general were ready to testify, on oath, 
that, to the best of their recollection, the general had been exceed- 
ingly like the majestic image, even when a boy, only that the idea 



116 LITERATUKB IN THE SCHOOL. 

had never occurred to them at that period. Great, therefore, was 
the excitement throughout the valley; and many people, who had 
never once thought of glancing at the Great Stone Face for years 
before, now spent their time in gazing at it, for the sake of know- 
ing exactly how General Blood-and-Thunder looked. 

On the day of the great festival, Ernest and all the other people 
of the valley left their work, and proceeded to the spot where 
the banquet was prepared. As he approached, the loud voice of 
the Rev. Dr. Battleblast was heard, beseeching a blessing on the 
good things set before them, and on the distinguished friend of 
peace in whose honor they were assembled. The tables were ar- 
ranged in a cleared space of the woods, shut in by the surrounding 
trees, except where a vista opened eastward, and afforded a dis- 
tant view of the Great Stone Pace. Over the general's chair, 
which was a relic from the home of Washington, there was an 
arch of green boughs and laurel surmounted by his country's 
banner, beneath which be had won his victories. Our friend 
Ernest raised himself on his tiptoes, in hopes to get a glimpse of 
the celebrated guest; but there was a mighty crowd about the 
tables anxious to hear the toasts and speeches, and to catch any 
words that might fall from the general in reply; and a volunteer 
company, doing duty as a guard, pricked with their bayonets at 
any particularly quiet person among the throng. So Ernest, 
being of a modest character, was thrust quite into the background, 
where he could see no more of Old Blood-and-Thunder's face than 
if it had been still blazing on the battlefield. To console himself 
he turned toward the Great Stone Face, which, like a faithful and 
long-remembered friend, looked back and smiled upon him 
through the forest. Meantime, however, he could overhear the re- 
marks of various individuals who were comparing the features of 
the hero with the face on the distant mountainside. 

" 'Tis the same face, to a hair ! " cried one man, cutting a caper 
for joy. 

" Wonderfully like, that's a fact ! " responded another. 

" Like ! Why, I call it Old Blood-and-Thunder himself, in a 
monstrous looking-glass ! " cried a third. " And why not ? He's 
the greatest man of this or any other age, beyond a doubt.'' 



THE GEEAT STONE FACE 117 

" The general ! The general ! " was now the cry. " Hush ! 
Silence! Old Blood-and-Thunder's going to make a speech." 

Even so; for, the cloth being removed, the general's health had 
been drunk amid shouts of applause, and he now stood upon his 
feet to thank the company. Ernest saw him. There he was, over 
the shoulders of the crowd, from the two glittering epaulets and 
embroidered collar upward, beneath the arch of green boughs with 
intertwined laurel, and the banner drooping as if to shade his 
brow! And there, too, visible in the same glance, appeared the 
Great Stone Face! And was there, indeed, such a resemblance 
as the crowd had testified ? Alas, Ernest could not recognize it ! 
He beheld a war-worn and weather-beaten countenance, full of 
energy, and expressive of an iron will; but the gentle wisdom, 
the deep, broad, tender sympathies were altogether wanting in 
Old Blood-and-Thunder's visage. 

■ " This is not the man of prophecy," sighed Ernest to himself, 
as he made his way out of the throng. " And must the world wait 
longer yet ? " 

The mists had gathered about the distant mountainside, and 
there were seen the grand and awful features of the Great Stone 
Face, awful but benignant, as if a mighty angel were sitting 
among the hills and enrobing himself in a cloud vesture of gold 
and purple. As he looked, Ernest could hardly believe but that 
a smile beamed over the wJiole visage, with a radiance still bright- 
ening, although without motion of the lips. It was probably the 
effects of the western sunshine, melting the thin vapors that had 
swept between him and the object that he gazed at. But — as it 
always did — the aspect of his marvelous friend made Ernest as 
hopeful as if he had never hoped in vain. " Fear not, Ernest," 
said his heart, even as if the Great Face were whispering to him — 
"fear not, Ernest." 

More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest still 
dwelt in his native valley, and was now a man of middle age. By 
slow degrees he had become known among the people. Now, as 
heretofore, he labored for his bread, and was the simple-hearted 
man that he had always been. But he had thought and felt so 
much, he had given so many of the best hours of his life to un- 



118 LITEEATUEE IIST THE SCHOOL 

worldly liopes for some great good to mankind, that it seemed 
as though he had been talking with the angels, and had imbibed 
a portion of their wisdom unawares. It was visible in the calm 
beneficence of his daily life, the quiet stream of which had made 
a wide, green margin all along its course. Not a day passed by 
that the world was not the better because this man, humble as he 
was, had lived. He never stepped aside from his own path, yet 
would always reach a blessing to his neighbor. Almost involun- 
tarily, too, he had become a preacher. The pure and high sim- 
plicity of his thought, which took shape in the good deeds that 
dropped silently from his hand, flowed also forth in speech. He 
uttered truths that molded the lives of those who heard him. His 
hearers, it may be, never suspected that Ernest, their own neigh- 
bor and familiar friend, was more than an ordinary man; least 
of all did Ernest himself suspect it ; but thoughts came out of his 
mouth that no other human Hps had spoken. 

When the people's minds had had a little time to cool, they 
were ready enough to acknowledge their mistake in imagining a 
similarity between General Blood-and-Thunder and the benign 
visage on the mountain side. But now, again, there were reports 
and many paragraphs in the newspapers, afi&rming that the like- 
ness of the Great Stone Face had appeared upon the broad 
shoulders of a certain eminent statesman. He, like Mr. Gather- 
gold and Old Blood-and-Thunder, was a native of the valley, but 
had left it in his early days, and taken up the trades of law and 
polities. Instead of the rich man's wealth and the warrior's 
sword he had but a tongue, and it was mightier than both to- 
gether. So wonderfully eloquent was he that, whatever he might 
choose to say, his hearers had no choice but to believe him ; wrong 
looked like right, and right like wrong. His voice, indeed, was a 
magic instrument: sometimes it rumbled like the thunder; some- 
times it warbled like the sweetest music. In good truth, he was 
a wondrous man ; and when his tongue had acquired him all other 
imaginable success, — when it had been heard in halls of state 
and in the courts of princes, — after it had made him known all 
over the world, even as a voice crjdng from shore to shore, — ^it 
finally persuaded his countrymen to select him for the presidency. 



THE GREAT STONE FACE 119 

Before this time, — ^indeed, as soon as he began to grow celebrated, 
— his admirers had found out the resemblance between him and 
the Great Stone Face; and so much were they struck by it that 
throughout the country this distinguished gentleman was known 
by the name of Old Stony Phiz. 

While his friends were doing their best to make him president, 
Old Stony Phiz, as he was called, set out on a visit to the valley 
where he was born. Of course he had no other object than to 
shake hands with his fellow-citizens, and neither thought nor 
cared about any effect which his progress through the country 
might have upon the election. Magnificent preparations were 
made to receive the illustrious statesman ; a cavalcade of horsemen 
set forth to meet him at the boundary line of the state, and all 
the people left their business an-d gathered along the way to see 
him pass. Among these was Ernest. Though more than once 
disappointed, as we have seen, he had such a hopeful and confid- 
ing nature that he was always ready to believe in whatever seemed 
beautiful and good. He kept his heart continually open, and 
thus was sure to catch the blessing from on high, when it should 
come. So now again, as buoyantly as ever, he went forth to be- 
hold the likeness of the Great Stone Face. 

The cavalcade came prancing along the road, with a great clat- 
tering of hoofs and a mighty cloud of dust, which rose up so 
dense and high that the visage of the mountain side was com- 
pletely hidden from Ernest's eyes. All the great men of the 
neighborhood were there on horseback: militia officers in uniform j 
the member of Congress; the sheriff of the county; the editors of 
newspapers; and many a farmer, too, had mounted his patient 
steed, with his Sunday coat upon his back. It really was a very 
brilliant spectacle, especially as there were numerous banners 
flaunting over the cavalcade, on some of which were gorgeous 
portraits of the illustrious statesman and the Great Stone Face, 
smiling familiarly at one another like two brothers. If the pic- 
tures were to be trusted, the resemblance, it must be confessed, 
was marvelous. We must not forget to mention that there was a 
band of music, which made the echoes of the mountains ring with 
the loud triumph of its strains, so that airy and soul-thrilling 



120 LITERATURE IN" THE SCHOOL 

melodies broke out among all the heights and hollows, as if every 
nook of his native valley had fomid a voice to welcome the dis- 
tinguished guest. But the grandest effect was when the far-off 
mountain precipice flung back the music; for then the Great 
Stone Face itself seemed to be swelling the triumphant chorus, in 
acknowledgment that, at length, the man of prophecy was come. 

All this while the people were throwing up their hats and shout- 
ing with such enthusiasm that the heart of Ernest kindled up, 
and he likewise threw up his hat and shouted as loudly as the 
loudest, " Huzza for the great man ! Huzza for Old Stony 
Phiz! " But as yet he had not seen him. 

" Here he is now ! " cried those who stood near Ernest. 
" There ! There ! Look at Old Stony Phiz and then at the Old 
Man of the Momitain, and see if they are not as like as two twin 
brothers ! " 

In the midst of all this gallant array came an open barouche, 
drawn by four white horses ; and in the barouche, with his massive 
head uncovered, sat the illustrious statesman. Old Stony Phiz 
himself. 

" Confess it," said one of Ernest's neighbors to him, " the 
Great Stone Face has met its match at last ! " 

Now, it must be owned that, at his first glimpse of the counte- 
nance which was bowing and smiling from the barouche, Ernest 
did fancy that there was a resemblance between it and the old 
familiar face upon the mountain side. The brow, with its mas- 
sive depth and loftiness, and all the other features, indeed, were 
bold and strong. But the grand expression of a divine sympathy 
that illuminated the momitain visage might here be sought in 
vain. Something had been originally left out, or had departed. 

Still Ernest's neighbor was thrusting his elbow into his side, 
and pressing him for an answer. 

" Confess ! Confess ! Is not he the very picture of your Old 
Man of the Mountain?" 

" No ! " said Ernest, bluntly, " I see little or no likeness." 

" Then so much the worse for the Great Stone Face ! " answered 
his neighbor. And again he set up a shout for Old Stony Phiz. 

But Ernest turned away, melancholy, and almost despondent: 



THE GEE AT STONE FACE 121 

for this was the saddest of his disappointments, to behold a man' 
who might have fulfilled the prophecy, and had not willed to do 
so. Meantime, the cavalcade, the banners, the music, and the 
barouches swept past him, with the shouting crowd in the rear, 
leaving the dust to settle down, and the Great Stone Face to be 
revealed again, with the grandeur that it had worn for untold 
centuries. 

" Lo, here I am, Ernest ! " the benign lips seemed to say. " I 
have waited longer than thou, and am not yet weary. Fear not; 
the man will come." 

The years hurried onward, treading in their haste on one an- 
other's heels. And now they began to bring white hairs and 
scatter them over the head of Ernest; they made wrinkles across 
his forehead and furrows in his cheeks. He was an aged man. 
But not in vain had he grown old; more than the white hairs on 
his head were the wise thoughts in his mind. And Ernest had 
ceased to be obscure. Unsought for, undesired, had come the 
fame which so many seek, and made him known in the great 
world, beyond the limits of the valley in which he had dwelt so 
quietly. College professors, and even the active men of cities, 
came from far to see and converse with Ernest; for the report 
had gone abroad that this simple farmer had ideas unlike those 
of other men, and a tranquil majesty as if he had been talking 
with the angels as his daily friends. Ernest received these visi- 
tors with the gentle sincerity that had marked him from boyhood, 
and spoke freely with them of whatever came uppermost, or lay 
deepest in his heart or their own. "While they talked together, 
his face would kindle and shine upon them, as with a mild even- 
ing light. When his guests took leave and went their way, and 
passing up the valley, paused to look at the Great Stone Face, 
they imagined that they had seen its likeness in a human counte- 
nance, but could not remember where. 

While Ernest had been growing up and growing old, a bountiful 
Providence had granted a new poet to this earth. He, likewise, 
was a native of the valley, but had spent the greater part of his 
life at a distance from that romantic region, pouring out his 
sweet music amid the bustle and din of cities. Often, however, 



122 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

did the mountains which had been familiar to him in his child- 
hood lift their snowy peaks into the clear atmosphere of his poe- 
try. Neither was the Great Stone Face forgotten, for he had 
celebrated it in a poem which was grand enough to have been 
uttered by its own majestic lips. 

The songs of this poet found their way to Ernest. He read 
them after his customary toil, seated on the bench before his cot- 
tage door, where for such a length of time he had filled his repose 
with thought, by gazing at the Great Stone Face. And now as he 
read stanzas that caused the soul to thrill within him, he lifted his 
eyes to the vast countenance beaming on him so benignantly. 

" majestic friend," he murmured, addressing the Great Stone 
Face, " is not this man worthy to resemble thee ? " 

The Face seemed to smile, but answered not a word. 

Now it happened that the poet, though he dwelt so far away, 
had not only heard of Ernest, but had meditated much upon his 
character, until he deemed nothing so desirable as to meet this 
man whose untaught wisdom walked hand in hand with the noble 
simplicity of his life. One summer morning, therefore, he took 
passage by the railroad, and, in the decline of the afternoon, 
alighted from the cars at no great distance from Ernest's cot- 
tage. The great hotel, which had formerly been the palace of Mr. 
Gathergold, .was close at hand, but the poet, with his carpetbag 
on his arm, inquired at once where Ernest dwelt, and was resolved 
to be accepted as his guest. 

Approaching the door, he there found the good old man, hold- 
ing a volume in his hand, which he read, and then, with a fijiger 
between the leaves, looked lovingly at the Great Stone Face. 

"Good evening," said the poet. " Can you give a traveler a 
night's lodging?" 

" Willingly," answered Ernest. And then added, smiling, " Me- 
thinks I never saw the Great Stone Face look so hospitably at a 
stranger." 

The poet sat down on the bench beside him, and he and Ernest 
talked together. Often had the poet conversed with the wittiest 
and the wisest, but never before with a man like Ernest, whose 
thoughts and feelings gushed up with such a natural freedom, 



THE GEEAT STONE FACE 123 

and wlio made great truths so familiar by his simple utterance of 
them. Angels, as had been so often said, seemed to have wrought 
with him at his labor in the fields ; angels seemed to have sat with 
him by the fireside. So thought the poet. And Ernest, on the 
other hand, was moved by the living images which the poet flung 
out of his mind, and which peopled all the air about the cottage 
door with shapes of beauty. 

As Ernest listened to the poet, he imagined that the Great Stone 
Pace was bending forward to listen too. He gazed earnestly into 
the poet's glowing eyes. 

"Who are you, my strangely gifted guest?" he said. 

The poet laid his finger on the volume that Ernest had been 
reading. 

" You have read these poems," said he. " You know me, then, 
— ^for I wrote them." 

Again, and still more earnestly than before, Ernest examined 
the poet's features; then turned to the Great Stone Face; then 
back to his guest. But his coimtenanee fell; he shook his head, 
and sighed. 

" Wherefore are you sad ? " inquired the poet. 

" Because," replied Ernest, " all through life I have awaited the 
fulfillment of a prophecy; and when I read these poems, I hoped 
that it might be fulfilled in you." 

" You hoped," answered the poet, faintly smiling, " to find in 
me the likeness of the Great Stone Face. And you are disap- 
pointed, as formerly with Mr. Gathergold, and Old Blood-and- 
Thunder, and Old Stony Phiz. Yes, Ernest, it is my doom. You 
must add my name to the illustrious three, and record another 
failure of your hopes. For — ^in shame and sadness do I speak 
it, Ernest — I am not worthy." 

" And why? " asked Ernest. He pointed to the volume. " Are 
not those thoughts divine? " 

"You can hear in them the far-off echo of a heavenly song," 
replied the poet. " But my life, dear Ernest, has not corre- 
sponded with my thought. I have had grand dreams, but they 
have been only dreams, because I have lived — and that, too, by 
my own choice — among poor and mean realities. Sometimes even 



124 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

— shall I dare to say it ? — I lack faith in the grandeur, the beauty, 
and the goodness which my own works are said to have made 
more evident in nature and in human life. Why, then, pure 
seeker of the good and true, shouldst thou hope to find me in 
yonder image of the divine ? " 

The poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim with tears. So, 
likewise, were those of Ernest. 

At the hour of sunset, as had long been his frequent custom, 
Ernest was to speak to an assemblage of the neighboring inhabi- 
tants in the open air. He and the poet, arm in arm, still talking 
together as they went along, proceeded to the spot. It was a 
small nook among the hills, with a gray precipice behind, the 
stem front of which was relieved by the pleasant foliage of many 
creeping plants, that made a tapestrj;- for the naked rock by hang- 
ing their festoons from all its rugged angles. At a small eleva- 
tion above the gTound, set in a rich framework of verdure, there 
appeared a niche, spacious enough to admit a human figure. Into 
this natural pulpit Ernest ascended and threw a look of familiar 
kindness around upon his audience. They stood, or sat, or re- 
clined upon the grass, as seemed good to each, with the depart- 
ing sunshine falling over them. In another direction was seen the 
Great Stone Face, with the same cheer, combined with the same 
solemnity, in its benignant aspect. 

Ernest began to speak, giving to the people of what was in his 
heart and mind. His words had power, because they accorded 
with his thoughts; and his thoughts had reality and depth, be- 
cause they harmonized with the life which he had always lived. 
The poet, as he listened, felt that the being and character of 
Ernest were a nobler strain of poetry than he had ever written. 
His eyes glistening with tears, he gazed reverentially at the ven- 
erable man, and said within himself that never was there an 
aspect so worthy of a prophet and a sage as that mild, sweet, 
thoughtful countenance with the glory of white hair diffused 
about it. At a distance, high up in the golden light of the set- 
ting sun, appeared the Great Stone Face, with hoary mists around 
it, like the white hairs around the brow of Ernest. Its look of 
grand beneficence seemed to embrace the world. 



THE GREAT STONE FACE 125 

At that moment, in sympathy with a thought which he was 
about to utter, the face of Ernest assumed a grandeur of ex- 
pression, so full of benevolence, that the poet, by an irresistible 
impulse, threw his arms aloft, and shouted: 

" Behold ! Behold ! Ernest is himself the likeness of the Great 
Stone Face ! " 

Then all the people looked and saw that what the deep-sighted 
poet said was true. The prophecy was fulfilled. But Ernest, 
having finished what he had to say, took the poet's arm, and 
walked slowly homeward, still hoping that some wiser and better 
man than himself would by and by appear, bearing a resemblance 
to the Great Stone Face. 

— Nathaniel Hawthorne : " Twice-Told Tales." 

Thought Analysis: 

The prose-poet introduces the subject of his theme by 
picturing a mother and her little boy sitting at the door of 
their cottage, at sunset, talking about the Great Stone 
Face v^rhich was ''plainly to be seen, though miles away, 
with the sunshine brightening all of its features. ' ' 

Note should be made of the fact that the Great Stone 
Face is named and held before the mind by the description 
which follows, while the mother and her little boy as per- 
sons are merely mentioned incidentally. Thus the Great 
Stone Face is made the dominant influence in the picture. 
This dominance is further accentuated by the reference to 
the influence upon children who grew up in its pres- 
ence and to the sublime qualities of character attributed 
to it. 

After thus making dominant the Great Stone Face, the 
attention is directed to the opening scene. Through the 
remark: ''The child's name was Ernest," and in the con- 
versation between mother and child which follows, the at- 
tention is centered upon Ernest. In the smile of the Ti- 



126 LITEBATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

tanic visage and the response of Ernest, there is borne in 
upon consciousness the fact that the theme has to do with 
these two as central figures. 

Through the remark of Ernest : " If I were to see a man 
with such a face I should love him dearly," and in the 
reply of the mother : ' ' If an old prophecy should come to 
pass, we may see a man some time or other, with exactly 
such a face as that," the movement toward the ideal is 
made possible. The fact is thus revealed that the story has 
to do with things that are to be. 

Note the prophecy carefully — its age, its influence as an 
unrealized ideal, its promise of things to be. Note the 
effect of the prophecy upon Ernest, the attitude of the 
mother. Note the significance of : 

" And Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. 
It was always in his mind whenever he looked upon the Great 
Stone Face." 

The problem is now set. Will Ernest live to see the per- 
son who will resemble the Great Stone Face? By what 
standard will Ernest measure him? Will the others also 
recognize him and estimate him by the same standards? 

Note the influence the Great Stone Face as an ideal had 
upon Ernest : 

" He assisted his mother much with his little hands and more 
with his loving heart. He grew from a happy yet thoughtful 
child to be a mild, quiet, modest boy, with more intelligence in his 
face than is seen in many lads who have been taught in famous 
schools. Yet Ernest had no teacher save only that the Great 
Stone Face became one to him. The secret was that the boy's 
tender simplicity discerned what other people could not see; and 
thus the love, which was meant for all, became his alone." 

This differentiation from other people records the un- 
conscious growth toward an ideal. 



THE GREAT STONE FACE 127 

These facts all bear witness to the silent but potent influ- 
ences of a contemplated ideal. 

The second step in the development of the theme is 
through various tests to determine whether Ernest will rec- 
ognize and be loyal to the ideal when it is beset by sordid, 
worldly resemblances. 

The first test is through wealth as an ideal in the person 
of Gathergold; the second through military fame in the 
person of Old Blood-and-Thunder ; the third through ora- 
tory and statesmanship in the person of Old Stony Phiz; 
and the fourth through the man of insight, feeling and emo- 
tion, the poet. The first is the test of boyhood ; the second 
of youth or young manhood ; the third of middle age, and 
the fourth of old age. 

In the study of Gathergold, image conditions clearly and 
note the difference in ideals between Ernest and the un- 
thinking multitudes. 

" The people bellowed : ' He is the very image of the Great 
Stone Face ! ' 

"But Ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled shrewdness of 
that visage and gazed upon the valley where he could still distin- 
guish those glorious features which had impressed themselves into 
his soul. Their aspect cheered him. The benign lips seemed to 
say: 

" ' He will come ! Fear not, Ernest, the man will come.' " 

Ernest had penetrated the glamor and superficiality and 
vulgarity of mere wealth and had discerned the larger and 
more worthy ideal which the people contemplated not. 

This a study of Ernest the boy. In boyhood he holds 
true to the ideal. 

" The years went on and Ernest ceased to he a boy. He had 
grown to be a young man now. He still loved to go apart, and 
gaze and meditate on the Great Stone Face. It was a pardonable 



128 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

folly, for Ernest was industrious, kind and neighborly, and neg- 
lected no duty for the sake of this idle habit. The Great Stone 
Face had become a teacher to him." 

The author estimates the influence and worth of such a 
teacher in his remark, speaking of the other people of the 
valley : 

" They knew not that the sentiment which was expressed in it 
(the Great Stone Face), would enlarge the young man's heart and 
fill it with wider and deeper sympathies than other hearts. They 
knew not that thence would come a better wisdom than could be 
learned from books, and a better life than could be molded on 
the example of other human lives." 

In this comment the author hints of the coming power 
and worth of Ernest — his growth toward the ideal. But 
he assures us that Ernest was not conscious of the tran- 
sition. 

" Neither did Ernest know that the thoughts and affections 
which came to him so naturally, in the field and at the fireside, 
were of a higher tone than those which all men shared with him." 

Image clearly the conditions pertaining to Old Blood- 
and-Thunder, through whom the second test was made. 

Note the transition in thought at the close of this study. 
As the deep gaze of Ernest penetrated the external, he 
sighed and said: 

" This is not the man of prophecy. And must the world wait 
longer yet ? " 

This time, as he turned his gaze through the mists to the 
"grand and awful features of the Great Stone Face," hope 
was rekindled by the smile that beamed over the whole 
visage. But this time the voice spoke from within. Some- 
thing had passed from the Great Stone Face to Ernest. . 



THE GEEAT STONE FACE 129 

"'Fear not, Ernest/ said Ms heart even as if the Great Stone 
Face were whispering to him — ' fear not, Ernest.' " 

In the test of youth Ernest rings true to the ideal. 

In the introduction to the study of Old Stony Phiz the 
author makes a nearer approach to the central idea of his 
unfolding theme as he pictures the result of the persistent 
contemplation of the ideal as follows: 

"More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest still 
dwelt in Ms native valley, and was now a man of middle age. By 
slow degrees lie had become known among the people. Now, as 
heretofore, he labored for his bread, and was the same simple- 
hearted man he had always been. But he had thought and felt 
so much, he had given so many of the best hours of his life to 
unworldly hopes for some great good to mankind, that it seemed 
as though he had been talking with the angels, and had imbibed 
a portion of their wisdom unawares. It was visible in the calm 
beneficence of his daily life, the quiet stream of which had 
made a wide, green margin all along its course. Not a day 
passed by that the world was not the better because this man, 
humble as he was, had lived. He never stepped aside from his 
own path, yet would always reach a blessing to his neighbor. 
Almost involuntarily, too, he had become a preacher. The pure 
and high simplicity of his thought, which took shape in the good 
deeds that dropped silently from his hand, flowed also forth in 
speech. He uttered truths that molded the lives of those who 
heard him. His hearers, it may be, never suspected that Ernest, 
their own neighbor and familiar friend, was more than an ordi- 
nary man; least of all did Ernest himself suspect it; but thoughts 
came out of his mouth that no other hinnan lips had spoken." 

This emphasis on the character and work and worth of 
Ernest turns the mind to Ernest and endows him with some 
attributes hinted at as belonging to the Great Stone Face. 
This emphasis on the character and endowments of Ernest 
prepares the mind for the revealment which is to be the 
climax of the unfolding theme. 



130 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

In contemplating Old Stony Phiz, Ernest looked through 
the actual to the possible. 

" He fancied there was a resemblance between the face of Old 
Stony Phiz and the old familiar face upon the momitain side. 
The brow with its massive depth and loftiness, and all of the other 
features, indeed, were bold and strong." 

But when he had concentrated his gaze upon the actual, 

" he looked in vain for the grand expression of divine sympathy 
that illuminated the mountain visage. Something had been origi- 
nally left out or had departed. 

" Ernest turned away, melancholy and almost despondent, for 
this was the saddest of his disappointments, to behold a man who 
might have fulfilled the prophecy, and had not willed to do so." 

Here Ernest feels the tension between the real, the ac- 
tual, as embodied in Old Stony Phiz, and the ideal, the 
possible. He hints, too, that only through conscious choice 
and purposed action can the individual move from the 
actual to the possible, from the real to the ideal. 

After the cavalcade and shouting throng had swept past, 
Ernest found himself alone with his ideal. 

" The Great Stone Face was revealed again with the grandeur 
that it had worn for untold centuries." 

An undimmed and untarnished ideal! 

" * Lo here I am, Ernest,' the benign lips seemed to say. * I 
have waited longer than thou and am not yet weary. Fear not, 
the man will come.' " 

In the test of middle age Ernest still holds true to his 
ideal. 

In the following paragraph are recorded changes in 
Ernest corresponding to and in harmony with the chang- 



THE GEEAT STONE FACE 131 

ing years. Here, too, is mirrored the fact of Ernest's ap- 
proach to and identification with the ideal. 

" The years hurried onward, treading in their haste on one an- 
other's heels. And now they began to bring white hairs and 
scatter them over the head of Ernest; they made wrinkles across 
his forehead and furrows in his cheeks. He was an aged man. 
But not in vain had he grown old ; more than the white hairs on 
his head were the wise thoughts in his mind. And Ernest had 
ceased to be obscure. Unsought for, undesired, had come the 
fame which so many seek, and made him known in the great world, 
beyond the limits of the valley in which he had dwelt so qiuetly. 
College professors, and even the active men of cities came from 
far to see and converse with Ernest; for the report had gone 
abroad that this simple farmer had ideas unlike those of other 
men, and a tranqiiil majesty as if he had been talking with the 
angels as his daily friends. Ernest received these visitors with 
the gentle sincerity that had marked him from boyhood, and spoke 
freely with them of whatever came uppermost, or lay deepest in 
his heart or their own. While they talked together, his face would 
kindle and shine upon them as with a mild evening light. When 
his guests took leave and went their way, and passing up the 
valley paused to look at the Great Stone Face, they imagined that 
they had seen its likeness in a human countenance, hut could not 
remember where/' 

The final test was through the poet and his songs. As 
he read the stanzas that caused the soul to thrill within 
him, he lifted his eyes to the vast countenance beaming 
upon him so benignantly : 

" ' majestic friend,' he murmured, addressing the Great 
Stone Face, 'is not this man worthy to resemble thee?' The 
Face seemed to smile but answered not a word." 

Now follows the deep desire of the poet, the man of in- 
sight, to meet this man, Ernest, "whose untaught wisdom 
walked hand in hand with the noble simplicity of his life. ' ' 



132 LITEEATUEE IN" THE SCHOOL 

The bond of mutual sympathy and admiration between 
the men of deep feeling and conviction is beautifully ex- 
pressed by the author: 

" Often had the poet conversed with the wittiest and the wis- 
est, but never before with a man like Ernest, whose thoughts and 
feelings gushed up with such a natural freedom, and who made 
great truths so familiar by his simple utterance of them. Angels, 
as had been so often said, seemed to have wrought with him at his 
labor in the fields; angels seemed to have sat with him by the 
fireside. 

"So thought the poet. 

" Ernest, on the other hand, was moved by the living images 
which the poet flung out of his mind, and which peopled all the 
air about the cottage door with shapes of beauty." 

Ernest listened to the conversation of the poet, studied 
his countenance, then turned to his ideal, the Great Stone 
Face, and shook his head and sighed. The real and the 
ideal were not yet at one. 

The meeting of the man of poetic insight and Ernest 
paved the way for the final movement in the development 
of the theme — the revealment. All the necessary condi- 
tions had been made, and there remained but for the man 
of discernment to proclaim the resemblance of Ernest to 
the Great Stone Face, the identity of the real and the ideal. 

Picture clearly the background of nature, the natural 
pulpit and setting, the assembled multitude, the glory of 
the departing sunshine, the solemnity and grandeur of the 
Great Stone Face. 

" Ernest began to speak of what was in his heart and mind. 
His words had power because they accorded with his thoughts; 
and his thoughts had reality and depth because they harmo- 
nized with the life which he had always lived. The poet as 
he listened felt that the being and character of Ernest were a 



THE GEEAT STONE EACE 133 

nobler strain of poetry than he had ever written. His eyes glis- 
tened with tears, he gazed reverentially at the venerable man, and 
said within himself that never was there an aspect so worthy of 
a prophet and a sage as that mild, sweet, thoughtful countenance 
with the glory of white hair diffused about it." 

With climactic effect the author directs the attention to 
the Great Stone Face lit up by the fading glory of the set- 
ting sun, with the hoary mists about its head like the 
white hairs about the brows of Ernest. The real and the 
ideal are in juxtaposition! 

As Ernest's face lighted up with the thought and emo- 
tion which he was about to express, with an irresistible im- 
pulse, the poet threw his arms aloft and shouted : 

" * Behold ! Behold ! Ernest is himself the likeness of the 
Great Stone Face.' 

" And all the people looked and saw that what the deep-sighted 
poet said was true." 

The real and the ideal were become at one! 

In all the tests of boyhood, youth, middle age and old 
age, amid all the clamor and confusion of shortsightedness 
and sordid interests, Ernest had unswervingly held to the 
contemplation of a great ideal. By a life devoted to the 
ideal, without selfishness and without deviation; by a life 
of high thinking and worthy action ; by sympathy and love 
and kindness, the great ideal had been attained ; the is and 
the ought-to-be had been harmonized; the real and the 
ideal had become at one. 

But true to his beautiful and childlike simplicity to the 
last, 

" Ernest still hoped that some wiser and better man than him- 
self would by and by appear, bearing a resemblance to the 
GREAT STONE FACE." 



134 LITERATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

Thus is taught the great lesson of life. Men and nations 
are as their ideals are. Both become what they will to be- 
come. By worthy contemplation and noble thinking; by 
virtuous acting and the harmonizing of thought and act, 
are worthy ideals of life achieved, do the real and the 
ideal become at one. 



CHAPTER VIII 

TYPE STUDIES 

NATHAN HALE 

To drum-beat and heart-beat, 

A soldier marches by; 
There is color in his cheek, 

There is courage in his eye, 
Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat 

In a moment he must die. 

By starlight and moonlight 
He seeks the Briton's campj 

He hears the rustling flag, 

And the armed sentry's tramp; 

And the starlight and moonlight 
His silent wanderings lamp. 

With slow tread and still tread 
He scans the tented line; 

And he counts the battery guns 
By the gaunt and shadowy pine; 

And his slow tread and still tread 
Gives no warning sign. 

The dark wave, the plumed wave. 
It meets his eager glance; 

And it sparkles 'neath the stars 
Like the glimmer of a lance ;— 

A dark wave, a plumed wave, 
On an emerald expanse. 



136 LITERATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

A sharp clang, a steel clang, 
And terror in the sound! 

For the sentry, falcon-eyed. 
In the camp a spy hath found: 

With a sharp clang, a steel clang, 
The patriot is bound. 



With calm brow, steady brow, 

He listens to his doom; 
In his look there is no fear. 

Nor a shadow trace of gloom; 
But with calm brow and steady brow. 

He robes him for the tomb. 



In the long night, the still night. 
He kneels upon the sod; 

And the brutal guards withhold 
E'en the solemn Word of God! 

In the long night, the still night. 
He walks where Christ hath trod. 



'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn. 

He dies upon the tree; 
And he mourns that he can lose 

But one life for liberty: 
And in the blue morn, the sunny morn, 

His spirit wings are free. 

But his last words, his message words, 
They burn, lest friendly eye 

Should read how proud and calm 
A patriot could die, 

With his last words, his dying words. 
A soldier's battle cry. 



TYPE STUDIES 137 

From Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf, 

From monument and urn, 
The sad of earth, the glad of heaven. 

His tragic fate shall learn; 
And on Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf 

The name of HALE shall burn! 

— Francis M. Finch 

Thought Analysis: 

This poem deals with ideal courage, or patriotism, at its 
highest and best. If rightly taught it will teach ideals of 
courage, of patriotism and of individual worth. It will 
teach that the larger life is not circumscribed by dates and 
years nor the interests of the temporal self, but that intens- 
ity and sublimity of life are measured by the quantity and 
quality of the service of that life. It may hint, too, that 
in the fulness of life through the largeness of service the 
highest and best interests of self are served. To stir the 
emotions and imagination ; to incite the intellect and move 
the will ; to set up new ideas and ideals, is the privilege of 
the teacher in the teaching of this simple, but great, poem. 

To give zest and spirit to the poem the teacher, in an 
interesting and animated way, should picture the his- 
torical incidents which furnish data for the theme: the 
retreat of Washington's army from Long Island — ^Wash- 
ington's desire for information concerning the position and 
strength of the enemy — the volunteering of young Hale — 
his capture — condemnation — execution. 

In the study of the poem itself the first stanza suggests 
the events moving toward the culmination of the tragedy: 

" To drum-beat and heart-beat," etc., 

suggest to the imagination a fearless young soldier, a mere 
boy, with arms manacled, head erect, a grim-visaged sol- 



138 LITEBATUEE IN" THE SCHOOL 

dier of England on either hand. In front, the drummers 
tattoo the death-march on muffled drums. Behind him is 
a platoon of British soldiers with bayonets fixed and mus- 
kets in position; — all move with solemn, measured tread, 
and unfaltering step toward the fatal noose that dangles 
from the gnarled limb of an old tree. The grim tragedy 
of this moving picture is intensified by the poet by his ref- 
erence to the "blue morn, the sunny morn," with their 
silent appeal to the joyous activity of mere living. 

" To drum-beat and heart-beat 
A soldier marches by." 

The drum-beat, breaking the Sabbath stillness, beats in 
on the brain of the boy the nearness of approaching death, 
grim, pitiless, irresistible. This is a situation which might 
well appall the stoutest heart and blanch the sternest vet- 
eran's cheek, yet 

" There is color in his cheek, 
There is courage in his eye." 

Whence came this sustaining courage, this sublime self-pos- 
session, at life 's tragic close ? When this question has been 
brought to the mind of the reader, the poet turns the atten- 
tion to the conditions under which the dangerous task was 
undertaken and performed — ^the moonlight, the starlight, 
the rustling flag, the sentry 's tramp, the slow tread, the still 
tread, the tented line, the battery guns, the gaunt and 
shadowy pine, the eagle-eyed sentry, the capture. Note 
the suggestion here made to the alertness and vigilance of 
the trained soldier. While the spy makes no sound to dis- 
turb the silences, his presence is betrayed to the veteran on 
duty by the flitting lights and shadows. This alertness is 
stiU further intensified by the fact that the presence of the 
sentinel is unknown to Hale until he is suddenly seized. 



TYPE STUDIES 139 

" With calm brow, steady brow, 
He listens to his doom." 

The imagination, borrowing its materials from a knowl- 
edge of the customs of war, must now picture the trial 
scene: the judge, the officers, the prisoner, the sentry, the 
verdict, the passing of the sentence, the effect upon the 
prisoner. The wonderful self-possession is mirrored all 
through this stanza: 

" With calm brow, steady brow, 
He listens to his doom; 
In his look there is no fear, 
Nor a shadow trace of gloom ; " 

That this is no transient feeling assumed for the occasion, 
but a reflection of the inner man, the author assures us in 
the closing lines of the stanza: 

"With calm brow, steady brow, 
He robes him for the tomb." 

The next stanza pictures the last night of life and inten- 
sifies still further the heroic self-possession and high re- 
solve of the ill-fated young champion of a forlorn hope. 
This stanza deals with the preparation for the death and 
the circumstances surrounding and attending that prepara- 
tion. Had the conditions been less intense the test of 
moral grandeur would have been less perfect. The teacher 
should have the readers picture all the sublimity and 
pathos of that long night, that still night, as he knelt upon 
the sod. She should bring out the test of spiritual endur- 
ance by the denial of the Bible which the youth had hoped 
to lean on for comfort and consolation. She should see 
shaping in that night of prayer his heroic resolve to follow 
the path of duty regardless, even as the Master had re- 



140 LITERATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

solved in his night of agony in the Garden of Gethsemane. 
In all reverence there should echo in the hearts of the 
readers ' ' Thy will, not mine, be done, ' ' with all its sublim- 
ity and grandeur. 

With this movement the poet turns the attention to the 
scene pictured in the first stanza and which the developed 
theme has fully explained. He anticipates our desire to 
know whether the heroic resolve and sublime self-possession 
remain to the end, and our satisfaction and admiration are 
complete when we are assured that his only regret is that he 
has but one life to lose for liberty. 

The teacher should emphasize the shortsightedness of the 
executioners, who believed that by destroying his last mes- 
sage, breathing the very spirit of patriotism and devotion 
to a cause, the influence of the example would be lessened, 
the lesson thus taught would be lost. This action but 
served to intensify the feeling for the tragic consequences 
and caused the poet to assure us that a courage so splendid 
in a cause so just had secured an earthly immortality for 
the victim and the hero of the tragedy. 

So far the study has been of an individual instance of 
heroic courage sublimely tested and in every detail ring- 
ing true to the test. It has been a study of ideal courage 
because a mere boy volunteered to secure desired informa- 
tion, regardless of the consequences to himself and with 
a full knowledge of the exactions of war and of the fearful 
risk which duty thus demanded. It has been ideal because 
the young man, cultured, surrounded by friends and op- 
portunities, with the ambitions of youth and every possi- 
bility for their realization, found life at its highest and 
best. It has been ideal because at such a time it would be 
most difficult to surrender life with all of its promise and 
hope and assurance. It has been ideal because this boy, in 
the face of all of these conditions, was willing to sacrifice 



TYPE STUDIES 141 

his life, if need be, in order that his country might have 
life and have it more abundantly. This study has been 
worth while even though the reader does not rise above this 
individual and particular analysis of the poem. But are 
there not greater horizons to this poem? Does it not sug- 
gest a more universal message? 

The teacher should now cause the readers to picture 
again the historical setting of the poem. They should feel 
the strain and stress that is on the incipient nation. They 
should keenly feel the effect of that strain and stress, not 
only on the men and boys, but also upon the matrons and 
maidens. They should critically ask themselves whether, 
in the light of these conditions and feelings, it is reason- 
able to assume that the hopes and aspirations and the lib- 
erty of a people could boast of but one individual cham- 
pion. "Will it not be more reasonable now to think of 
Nathan Hale as typifying the attitude and purpose and 
high resolve of young America? Is it too much to assume 
that ''I regret that I have but one life to lay down for my 
country" is the voice of young America, the sentiment and 
feeling of the many crystallized in the voice and the deed 
of the one ? 

A higher but perfectly legitimate step in the universaliz- 
ing process may be taken by causing the readers to note 
carefully the attitude of young America whenever the 
stress and strain of conflict threatened the life of the na- 
tion. In this intensive study of the people's thought and 
feeling, Nathan Hale will be seen to typify all those who 
were willing to follow duty fearlessly, regardless of the 
consequences, and to sacrifice life itself if need be in order 
that the nation might have life and have it more abun- 
dantly. Nathan Hale will thus be seen to speak for all the 
youths of his own day. He will speak, too, for all the 
youths since that day who preferred the interests of the 



142 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

national life to the interests of the individual life. He 
speaks, too, for all the youths to-day who would willingly 
sacrifice themselves and deem it a privilege, did the life of 
the nation require the sacrifice. 

A long step has thus been taken in the universalizing 
process, but the teacher may extend the process until the 
highest flight is reached when the principle, applied thus 
far to America, has been extended and applied to any 
nation, to all nations, until there dawns a consciousness 
that in any nation, in all nations, there are youths in whom 
the spirit of Nathan Hale has lived, still lives, who will, 
in the dark days of their nation 's life, go out with fearless- 
ness to sacrifice their individual lives in order that their 
nation may have life and have it more abundantly. 

The study will now have risen above the environment of 
geographical and historical incidents and will have become 
a message of patriotism and a type of ideal moral courage 
which speaks to the universal heart of man, kindling the 
fires of patriotic ardor and inspiring with devotion to the 
common good. Through this message Nathan Hale be- 
comes a citizen of a country that knows no boundaries, an 
ideal of all humanity, and in so far as man may, has gained 
an earthly immortality. 

These are the limits to which the study of the poem may 
be pressed, but each class, under the inspiring touch of the 
soulful teacher, will define its own limits, will exhaust its 
own possibilities. 

The universal message hinted at in the analysis of 
Nathan Hale may be made more concrete and vivid by the 
study of a similar poem dealing with another time and 
people. For this study let us turn to the poem of Regulus, 
the noble Roman. 



TYPE STUDIES 143 

REGULUS 

(Study and Contrast) 

Urge me no more — your prayers are vain, 

And even the tears ye shed: 

When Regulus can lead again 

The bands that once he led; 

When he can raise your legions slain 

On swarthy Lybia's fatal plain 

To vengeance from the dead; 

Then will he seek once more a home, 

And lift a freeman's voice in Rome ! 

Accursed moment! when I woke 
From faintness all but death; 
And felt the coward conqueror's yoke 
Like venomed serpents wreathe 
Round every limb! If lip and eye 
Betrayed no sign of agony, 
Inly I cursed my breath! 
Wherefore, of all that fought, was I 
The only wretch who could not die? 

To darkness and to chains consigned. 

The captive's blighting doom 

I recked not; could they chain the mind, 

Or plunge the soul in gloom? 

And there they left me, dark and lone, 

Till darkness had familiar grown; 

Then from that living tomb 

They led me forth, — ^I thought to die, — 

Oh ! in that thought was ecstacy. 

But no — ^kind Heaven had yet in store 
For me, a conquered slave, 
A joy I thought to feel no more, 
Or feel but in the grave. 



144 LITEKATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

They deemed perchance my haughtier mood 
Was quelled by chains and solitude; 
.That he who once was brave — 
Was I not brave? — had now become 
Estranged from honor as from Rome ! 

They bade me to my country bear 

The offers these have borne; 

They would have trained my lips to swear, 

Which never yet have sworn ! 

Silent their base commands I heard; 

At length I pledged a Roman's word 

Unshrinking to return. 

I go prepared to meet the worst — 

But I shall gall proud Carthage first ! 

They sue for peace, — ^I bid you spurn 

The gilded bait they bear! 

I bid you still, with aspect stern. 

War, ceaseless war, declare ! 

Fools that they were, could not mine eye, 

Through their dissembled calmness, spy 

The struggles of despair? 

Else had they sent this wasted frame, 

To bribe you to your country's shame? 

Your land — I must not call it mine; 

No country has the slave; 

His father's name he must resign. 

And even his father's grave; 

But this not now — beneath her lies 

Proud Carthage and her destinies: 

Her empire o'er the wave 

Is yours; — she knows it well — and you 

Shall know and make her feel it too! 



TYPE STUDIES 145 

Ay, bend your brows, ye ministers 

Of coward hearts, on me! 

Ye know no longer it is hers. 

The empire of the sea; 

Ye know her fleets are far and few. 

Her bands, a mercenary crew; 

And Rome, the bold and free. 

Shall trample on her prostrate towers, 

Despite your weak and wasted powers. 

One path alone remains for me; 

My vows were heard on high. 

Thy triumphs, Rome, I shall not see, 

For I return to die. 

Then tell not me of hope or life; 

I have in Rome no chaste, fond wife. 

No smiling progeny. 

One word concenters for the slave — 

Wife, children, country, all — the grave! 

— Thomas Dale 

Thought Analysis: 

To give zest to the study of this poem, the teacher should 
give a brief sketch of the Eoman and Carthaginian em- 
pires and the causes and consequences of their rivalry and 
hatred toward each other. If this is skilfully done much 
valuable historical data will be sought by the class through 
well-directed references. While the analysis of any work 
of art lies within itself, the individual thought upon which 
it is based will be enhanced by a fulness of historical data 
and the choice of reading matter will be determined by the 
study. Thus the study of a poem may be made to serve a 
double function. The alert teacher will be careful not to 
permit the study of the poem to degenerate into a discus- 
sion of Eoman or Carthaginian history because both hap- 



146 LITERATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

pen to be suggested by the poem. Trails and byways may 
suggest possible excursions for the future, but the trail of 
to-day must be the determinant of the course to be pursued. 
The poem opens with a sharp appeal to the imagination : 
"Urge me no more. " Who speaks? Where does he speak? 
To whom does he speak and under what circumstances? 
The reader must picture a scene outside of Imperial Rome. 
He must see the heroic Roman on the one side and the 
vast multitude of Romans on the other. The imagina- 
tion must also think the conditions which preceded the 
opening lines of the speech of Regulus. The prayers and 
tears and persuasion of wife and children and kindred and 
friends and neighbors and Senators have been resorted to 
to persuade him to give up his determination to return to 
Carthage and to take his place once more as a citizen of the 
imperial city. The irrevocableness of his decision is mir- 
rored in the lines: 

"When Regulus can lead again 
The bands that once he led; 
When he can raise your legions slain 
On swarthy Lybia's fatal plain 
To vengeance from the dead; 
Then will he seek once more a home, 
And lift a freeman's voice in Rome!" 

The study of this stanza arouses a curiosity to know the 
conditions that have determined his decision and to know 
the circumstances that have debarred him from participat- 
ing in the freeman's privileges as a Roman. The next 
stanza turns the attention to conditions and incidents in 
Carthage preceding the scene just portrayed. 

Here, too, the imagination must fill in the details. The 
battle must be fought, the Roman legions destroyed, the 
great commander rendered senseless, as a prelude to the 



TYPE STUDIES 147 

thought of the second stanza. Through the exercise of the 
imagination the reader must feel with Eegulus the humil- 
iation of captivity, must feel the internal agitation and the 
perfect external control; must feel the force and signifi- 
cance of the lines : 

"Wherefore, of all that fought, was I 
The only wretch who could not die?" 

In the third stanza the conditions of captivity are artis- 
tically blended with the spirit of the captive. This spirit 
is vividly expressed in the lines: 

" The captive's blighting doom 
I recked not." 

The reason for this sublime indifference is forcibly ex- 
pressed in : 

" Could they chain the mind, 
Or plunge the soul in gloom?" 

The reader must next see the captive led forth ; must feel 
the reason with him ; must learn with him the real reason, 
and note his attitude and feelings as he received the mes- 
sage which he was to bear to his countrymen. He must 
feel also what was going on in the heart and mind of the 
captive as he heard these admonitions in silence. The atti- 
tude of mind is hinted at in these lines : 

" They deemed perchance my haughtier mood 
Was quelled by chains and sohtudej 
That he who once was brave — 
Was I not brave? — had now become 
Estranged from honor as from Rome ! " 

But in the following stanza his resolve is fully shown. 
Eegulus turns to the Carthaginian ambassadors who have 



148 LITEEATUKE IN" THE SCHOOL 

accompanied him to Rome and who have laid the demands 
of Carthage before the Eoman officials, and speaking of 
the officials of Carthage who have sent him on the errand, 
exclaims : 

" They bade me to my country bear 
The message these have borne; 
They would have trained my lips to swear 
Which never yet have sworn! 

Then he justifies his coming as he expresses his attitude 
and explains his purpose: 

" Silent their base commands I heard; " 

and in the following stanza : 

— " I bid you spurn 
The gilded bait they bear; 
I bid you still, with aspect stern, 
War, ceaseless war, declare ! " 

His reason for this advice in the following lines: 

"Fools that they were, could not mine eye, 
Through their dissembled calmness, spy 
The struggles of despair ? " 

The resources of Carthage were exhausted and less than 
peace spelled disaster. So Regulus knows and impresses 
upon his hearers as he continues : 

" Your land — beneath her lies 
Proud Carthage and her destinies; 
Her empire o'er the wave 
Is yours; — she knows it well, and you 
Shall know and make her feel it too." 

With climactic effect the poet reenforces this statement by 



TYPE STUDIES 149 

the testimony of the Carthaginian ambassadors, who tes- 
tify by their attitude. This is shown in the lines : 

"Ay, bend your brows, ye ministers 
Of coward hearts, on me; 
Ye know no longer it is hers, 
The empire of the sea; — 
Ye know her fleets are far and few, 
Her bands a mercenary crew." 

His attitude and purpose as an ambassador to his own 
country have now been fully revealed, but there remains 
to be explained his determination to return to Carthage re- 
gardless of the consequences. If there is no valid reason 
for this, if it is a determination based on whim or ca- 
price, it is foolhardiness and not moral courage. The ex- 
planation of this attitude must be sought for in the poem 
itself. We find the explanation in the lines : 

" At length I pledged a Roman's word 
Unshrinking to return." 

And also in the line: 

"My vows were heard on high." 

These lines place the emphasis upon truth and duty as con- 
trasted with individual preference or pleasure. The devo- 
tion to duty regardless of consequences, the placing of fidel- 
ity to word and principle, above life and the pleasures 
pertaining thereto, lift the study to the plane of heroic 
moral courage, a type of the ideal. 

The worth of the sacrifice is intensified by the poet as he 
pictures through the lips of the hero what the sacrifice 
means. 

"Your land — 1 must not call it mine — 
No country has the slave; 



150 LITEKATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

His father's name he must resign, 
And even his father's grave." 

And also in the lines: 

" Thy triumphs, Rome, I shall not see, 
For I return to die. 
Then tell not me of hope or life; 
I have in Rome no chaste, fond wife. 
No smiling progeny. 
One word concenters for the slave — 
Wife, children, country, all — the grave ! " 

The theme as a type may be universalized after the man- 
ner indicated in the study of Nathan Hale. Both poems 
may be intensified and enhanced by contrasting the central 
thought or theme of the one with that of the other. 

These poems may now be contrasted with a study from 
Athenian life embodied in the poem "Pheidippides." 



PHEIDIPPIDES 

First I salute this soil of the blessed, river and rock! 
Gods of my birthplace, daemons and heroes, honor to all! 
Then I name thee, claim thee for our patron, co-equal in praise 
Ay, with Zeus the Defender, with Her of the segis and spear! 
Also, ye of the bow and the buskin, praised be your peer. 
Now, henceforth and forever, — latest to whom I upraise 
Hand and heart and voice I For Athens, leave pasture and flock ! 
Present to help, potent to save. Pan — patron I call! 

Arehons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return! 
See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no spectre that speaks! 
Crowned with the myrtle, did you command me, Athens and you, 
" Run, Pheidippides, run and race, reach Sparta for aid ! 



TYPE STUDIES 151 

Persia has come, we are here, where is She ? " Your command I 

obeyed, 
Ran and raced ; like stubble, some field which a fire runs through. 
Was the space between city and city; two days, two nights did I 

burn 
Over the hills, under the dales, down pits and up peaks. 



Into their midst I broke ; breath served but for " Persia has come ! 

Persia bids Athens proffer slaves-tribute, water and earth; 

Razed to the ground is Eretria — but Athens, shall Athens sink. 

Drop into dust and die — the flower of Hellas utterly die. 

Die, with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the 
stander-by? 

Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o'er de- 
struction's brink? 

How — when ? No care for my limbs ! — there's lightning in all 
and some — ■ 

Fresh and fit your message to bear, once lips give it birth ! " 



my Athens — Sparta love thee? Did Sparta respond? 
Every face of her leered in a furrow of envy, mistrust, 
Malice, — each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate! 
Gravely they turned to take counsel, to cast for excuses. I stood 
Quivering, — the limbs of me fretting as fire frets, an inch from 

dry wood: 
"Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate? 
Thunder, thou Zeus! Athene, are Spartans a quarry beyond 
Swing of thy spear? Phoibos and Artemis, clang them 'Ye 

must ' ! " 



No bolt launched from Olumpos ! Lo, their answer at last ! 
" Has Persia come, — does Athens ask aid, — ^may Sparta befriend? 
Nowise precipitate judgment — too weighty the issue at stake! 
Count we no time lost time which lags through respect to the gods ! 



152 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

Ponder that precept of old, ' No warfare, whatever the odds 
In your favor, so long as the moon, half -orbed, is unable to take 
Full-circle her state in the sky ! ' Already she rounds to it fast : 
Athens must wait, patient as we — who judgment suspend," 



Athens, except for that sparkle, — thy name, I had mouldered 

to ash! 
That sent a blaze through my blood ; off, off and away was I back, 
— Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile ! 
Yet " gods of my land ! " I cried as each hillock and plaiu, 
Wood and stream, I knew, I named, rushing past them again, 
" Have ye kept faith, proved mindful of honors we paid you ere- 

while? 
Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash 
Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack! 



" Oak and olive and bay, — I bid you cease to enwreathe 
Brows made bold by your leaf! Fade at the Persian's foot, 
You that, our patrons were pledged, should never adorn a slave! 
Rather I hail thee, Parnes, — trust to thy wild waste tract ! 
Treeless, herbless, lifeless mountain! What matter if slacked 
My speed may hardly be, for homage to crag and to cave 
No deity deigns to drape with verdure? — at least I can breathe. 
Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute ! " 



Such my cry as, rapid, I ran over Parnes' ridge; 
Gully and gap I clambered and cleared till, sudden, a bar 
Jutted, a stoppage of stone against me, blocking the way. 
Right! for I minded the hollow to traverse, the fissure across: 
" Where I could enter, there I depart by ! Night in the fosse ? 
Athens to aid? Though the dive were through Erebos, thus I 

obey — 
Out of the day dive, into the day as bravely arise ! No bridge 
Better! " — when — ha! what was it I came on, of wonders that are? 



TYPE STUDIES 153 

There, in the cool of a cleft sat he — majestieal Pan! 

Ivy drooped wanton, kissed his head, moss cushioned his hoof : 

All the great god was good in the eyes grave-kindly — the curl 

Carved on the bearded cheek, amused at a mortal's awe. 

As, under the human trunk, the goat-thighs grand I saw. 

" Halt, Pheidippides ! " — halt I did, my brain of a whirl : 

" Hither to me ! Why pale in my presence ? " he gracious began : 

"How is it, — ^Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof? 

" Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast ! 
Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of 

old? 
Ay, and still, and forever her friend ! Test Pan, trust me ! 
Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith 
In the temples and tombs ! Go say to Athens, ' The Goat-God 

saith : 
When Persia — so much as strews not the soil — is cast in the sea, 
Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and 

least, 
Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and the 

bold!' 

" Say Pan saith : ' Let this, foreshowing the place, be the 

pledge ! ' " 
(Gay, the liberal hand held out this herbage I bear — 
Fennel — ^I grasped it a-tremble with dew — ^whatever it bode) 
" While, as for thee "... But enough ! He was gone. I ran 

hitherto — 
Be sure that, the rest of my journey, I ran no longer, but flew. 
Parnes to Athens — earth no more, the air was my road: 
Here am I back. Praise Pan, we stand no more on the razor's 

edge! 
Pan for Athens, Pan for me! I too have a guerdon rare! 

Then spoke Miltiades. " And thee, best runner of Greece, 
Whose limbs did duty indeed, — ^what gift is promised thyself? 



154 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

Tell it us straightway, — Athens the mother demands of her son ! " 
Rosily blushed the youth : he paused : but, lifting at length 
His eyes from the ground, it seemed as he gathered the rest of his 

strength 
Into the utterance — " Pan spoke thus : ' For what thou hast done 
Count on a worthy reward ! Henceforth be allowed thee release 
From the racer's toil, no vulgar reward in praise or in pelf ! ' 



" I am bold to believe. Pan means reward the most to my mind ! 
Fight I shall, with our foremost, wherever this fennel may 

grow, — 
Pound — Pan helping us — Persia to dust, and, under the deep, 
Whelm her away forever; and then, — no Athens to save, — 
Marry a certain maid, I know keeps faith to the brave, — 
Hie to my house and home: and, when my children shall creep 
Close to my knees, — recount how the God was awful yet kind. 
Promised their sire reward to the full — rewarding him so ! " 



Unforeseeing one! Yes, he fought on the Marathon day: 

So, when Persia was dust, all cried " To Akropolis ! 

Eun, Pheidippides, one race more ; the meed is thy due ! 

' Athens is saved, thank Pan,' go shout." He flung down his 

shield. 
Ran like fire once more : and the space 'twixt the Fennelfleld 
And Athens was stubble again, a field which a fire runs through. 
Till in he broke: "Rejoice, we conquer!" Like wine through 

clay, 
Joy in his blood bursting his heart, he died — the bliss! 



So, to this day, when friend meets friend, the word of salute 
Is still " Rejoice ! " his word which brought rejoicing indeed. 
So is Pheidippides happy forever, — the noble strong man 
Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god 
loved so well; 



TYPE STUDIES 155 

He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered 

to tell 
Such tidings, yet never decline, but, gloriously as he began, 
So to end gloriously — once to shout, thereafter be mute: 
" Athens is saved ! " — Pheidippides dies in the shout for his 

meed. 

: — Robert Browning 

Thought Analysis: 

The teacher may precede the study of this poem by an 
animated description of the Persian-Grecian contact and 
conflict up to and including the battle of Marathon. This 
should be graphic, vivid, animated, picturesque. The in- 
terest which may be aroused in this manner will bear 
wholesome fruit in well-directed supplementary reading 
along historical lines. This historical study should be an 
outgrowth of the study of the poem, but the study should 
not be dissipated and enervated by dwelling upon the 
facts of history rather than on the incidents of the poem 
itself. 

The opening lines of the poem focus the attention on 
the central character, Pheidippides, and arouse a curiosity 
as to his attitude of mind in this preliminary religious 
salute. The curiosity thus aroused will have been enhanced 
if the imagination has pictured the scene in Athens where 
the message of Pheidippides is to be delivered. The curi- 
osity is still further aroused by the exaltation of Pan and 
the eulogy addressed to him. A desire to know the cause 
of this fervent outburst impels the reader to seek the cause 
in the incidents which follow. 

The interest which has been aroused is held in abeyance 
while the facts, which give significance to the message which 
is to be delivered, are narrated. The rapidity with which 
the messenger has performed the task assigned, as well as 



156 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

the physical strain to which he has been subjected, are 
vividly set forth in the line : 

" See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no spectre that speaks ! " 

The suddenness of his appearance in Sparta as well as 
the deliberateness of that people are well suggested by the 
line: 

" Into their midst I broke ; " 

the verb broke being especially significant. The attitude 
of the Athenians and their expectations are set forth in the 
lines : 

" Persia has come ! 
Persia bids Athens proffer slaves-tribute, water and earth." 

The unexpected reluctance of the Spartans to befriend 
Athens in her stress is mirrored in the lines : 

" Shall Athens sink. 

Drop into dust and die — the flower of Hellas utterly die, 
Die, with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the 
stander-by ? " 

The lack of response at this appeal to the pride and self- 
respect of the Spartans is revealed in the line: 

" Answer me quick, what help, what hand do you stretch o'er 
destruction's brink? 

In the lines: 

" How — when ? No care for my limbs," etc, 

Pheidippides pictures his own eagerness to carry a message 
of hope and encouragement to his despairing and anxious 
countrymen. 



TYPE STUDIES , 157 

The final decision of the Spartans to the appeal of the 
Athenians is anticipated in the lines: 

"0 my Athens — Sparta love thee? Did Sparta respond?" 

which is followed by the message itself with climactic 
effect. 

The message is also anticipated in the graphic lines : 

" Every face of her leered in a f urrovs^ of envy, mistrust, 
Malice, — each eye of her gave me its glitter of gratified hate ! " 

Note the effect of the alliteration and especially of the use 
of ''gratified." 

The exasperating deliberateness of the Spartans is elo- 
quently expressed in the line : 

" Gravely they turned to take counsel, to east for excuses." 

Pheidippides reveals the unexpectedness of this attitude on 
the part of the Spartans in saying : 

"Persia has come, Athens asks aid, and still they debate?" 

He shows, too, that he anticipates the outcome of their de- 
liberations and debates in his: 

" Thunder, thou Zeus ! Athene, are Spartans a quarry beyond 
Swing of thy spear? Phoibus and Artemis, clang them 'ye 
must'!" 

Strongly significant is the exclamation: 

" No bolt launched from Olumpos ! " 

The anticipated answer of the Spartans to the appeal of 
the Athenians is finally revealed in the lines: 

"Has Persia come, — does Athens ask aid, — ^may Sparta be- 
friend ? 
Nowise precipitate Judgment, — ^too weighty the issues at stake." 



158 LITEEATUEE IIT THE SCHOOL 

(These lines reveal, too, the exasperating deliberateness 
and indifference of the Spartans with artistic effect.) 

" Count we no time lost time which lags through respect to the 

gods ! 
Ponder that precept of old, 'No warfare, whatever the odds 
In your favor, so long as the moon, half -orbed, is unable to take 
Full-circled her state in the sky ! ' Already she rounds to it fast : 
Athens must wait, patient as we — ^who judgment suspend." 

Thus under the guise of a religious pretense Sparta grati- 
fies jealousy of Athens. 

The patriotic impulses of Pheidippides are couched in 
the line: 

"Athens, except for that sparkle, — thy name, I had mouldered 
to ash!" 

It also furnished an opportunity to relate the incidents 
following the expression of the Spartans without a break 
in the narration. The mind follows Pheidippides in his 
movement as well as in his expressed thought as he ex- 
claims : 

" That sent a blaze through my blood ; off, off and away was I 

back, 
Not one word to waste, one look to lose on the false and the vile." 

The theme now returns to the interest aroused at the 
opening of the poem and the explanation is to be given of 
the attitude of Pheidippides as he preceded his report with 
a ceremony or rite. After the Spartans have expressed 
their indifference, Pheidippides seeks the cause for their 
attitude toward Athens, and he finally attributes it to the 
indifference or impotence of the gods whom the Athenians 
delight to worship. This is shown in the exclamation : 



TYPE STUDIES 159 

" gods of my land — ^have ye kept faith, proved mindful of 

honors we paid you erewhile? 
Vain was the filleted victim, the fulsome libation! Too rash 
Love in its choice, paid you so largely service so slack I " 

This resentment toward the gods for their negligence is 
further intensified by: 

" Oak and olive and bay, — I bid you cease to enwreathe 
Brows made bold by your leaf." 

This attitude of resentment toward the gods who have per- 
mitted the Spartans to deny aid reaches its climax in the 
appeal of Pheidippides to the barren mountain peak, and 
in which he expends his childlike fury in the lines: 

"At least I can breathe, — 
Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute ! " 

At this point in the development the chaotic condition of 
Pheidippides' mind, suggested by his outbursts, is artis- 
tically contrasted with the wild and confused physical con- 
ditions of the country, and at this point Pan is introduced 
in person with artistic effect. This throws the mind bacl? 
to the beginning of the poem, and the reader anticipates an 
explanation of the eulogy to Pan. The significance of god- 
service, without reward or rite or ceremony, is suggested 
in the lines: 

" How is it — Athens, only in Hellas, holds me aloof ? 
Athens, she only, rears me no fane, makes me no feast? 
Wherefore? Than I what godship to Athens more helpful of old? 
Ay, and still, and forever her friend ! " 

In the following expression of Pan a new interest is 
aroused which impels the reader to move forward in the 
reading. This is embodied in the significant expression: 



160 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

"Test Pan, trust me!" This interest is still further 
strengthened by the promise of Pan: 

" Go, bid Athens take heart, laugh Persia to scorn, have faith 
In the temples and tombs ! Go, say to Athens, ' The Goat-God 

saith : 
When Persia — so much as strews not the soil — is cast in the sea, 
Then praise Pan who fought in the ranks with your most and 

least. 
Goat-thigh to greaved-thigh, made one cause with the free and 

the bold!' 
' Let this foreshowing the place, be the pledge !. ' " 

In his description of the remainder of the journey Pheidip- 
pides reveals the faith and inspiration of the promise of 
Pan. His childlike simplicity is echoed back by the Athe- 
nians as they accept unquestioned his statements, descrip- 
tions, and fennel-proof. 

Another interest is here injected into the poem, an inter- 
est which is pivotal in character, the key to the significance 
of the poem as a v^^hole. This interest centers around the 
personal reward promised Pheidippides by Pan. This in- 
terest is further intensified by the anticipation shown by 
Pheidippides in response to a question by Miltiades, who 
prefaced his query with a Spartanlike acknowledgment of 
Pheidippides' work and worth: 

" And thee, best runner of Greece, 
Whose limbs did duty indeed, — what gift is promised thyself? 
Tell it us straightway, — Athens the mother demands of her son ! " 

This personal request of the great commander of the Athe- 
nian forces serves to dignify the promise and to center the 
attention upon it and also upon what Pheidippides believes 
it purports. The element of suspense is again introduced 
to be held to the end of the poem. This suspense is sug- 



TYPE STUDIES 161 

gested by the exclamation : ' ' Unf oreseeing one ! ' ' The pre- 
liminary interest as to Pan's promise and performance is 
first gratified in order that the mind may give full measure 
of attention to the individual reward and its significance. 
To Pheidippides is accorded the privilege of bearing to his 
anxious kindred and friends in Athens the news of the 
triumph of Athenian valor. He realizes the culmination 
of earthly joy when he bears the message: "Rejoice! we 
conquer ! " 

This ending, the climax of the poem, should be intensi- 
fied by vividly picturing the suspense which the old men, 
the women and the children were under at Athens during 
the progress of the battle, and their mingled hopes and 
fears as they beheld the coming of the messenger, uncer- 
tain whether he bore news of defeat and disaster — slavery 
for them and annihilation for their beloved city — or victory 
and triumph and liberty and life! These were conditions 
the most intense. Tidings of great joy would now be at 
their highest and best. No greater joy could man experi- 
ence than to be the bearer of great news under such condi- 
tions. Never again could the "bravest runner of Greece" 
find a task equally worthy. Significant it is that the gods 
grant him release from the racer's toil at this supreme 
moment. Borne on the crest of a triumphant wave, he 
rises from earthly to celestial glory, from transient and 
local to eternal fame. 

" So is Pheidippides happy forever, — the noble strong man 
Who could race like a god, bear the face of a god, whom a god 

loved so well; 
He saw the land saved he had helped to save, and was suffered 

to tell 
Such tidings, yet never decline, but gloriously as he began 
So to end gloriously — once to shout, thereafter be mute : 
* Athens is saved ! ' — Pheidippides dies in the shout for his meed." 



162 LITEBATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

"What then is the central purpose or theme of the poem? 
Surely it is no less than the portrayal of an individual's 
faithfulness to duty under ideal circumstances. Ideal be- 
cause these conditions are hardest and therefore highest 
and best. It is the portrayal of fidelity to duty when the 
life of a city and its people are at stake. It is an ideal 
blending of fidelity and faith to and in gods and men. It 
points to the fact that the path of duty is the highest and 
best even though it leads to death itself, for death encoun- 
tered in devotion to duty is in itself a reward. Does the 
poem, however, merely pertain to Athenian life of ancient 
days, or does it hint a more universal message? Did this 
devotion of Pheidippides to duty to gods and country ex- 
haust the possibilities of such devotion to duty? Is it not 
more reasonable to assume that devotion to duty knows no 
people nor country, but is peculiar to all countries and 
peoples and at all times, and in this common heritage of 
devotion to high principles even at the cost of individual 
life is found the essence and the genesis of the meaning of 
the brotherhood of man ? The man who finds life and duty 
to be synonymous terms and who squares his theory with 
his practice, gains an earthly immortality that knows no 
geographical limits and serves as an inspiration to all peo- 
ple in all countries for aU time. 

(Compare and contrast this poem with "Eegulus" and 
''Nathan Hale.") 



CHAPTEE IX 

CONTRASTED STUDIES 

THE SICILIAN'S TALE 

Eobert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 

And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Apparelled in magnificent attire, 

With retinue of many a knight and sqmre, 

On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 

And heard the priests chant the Magnificat. 

And as he listened, o'er and o'er again 

Repeated like a burden or refrain, 

He caught the words, "Deposuit potentes 

De sede, et exaltavit humiles ; " 

And slowly lifting up his kingly head 

He to a learned clerk beside him said, 

" What mean these words ? " The clerk made answer meet, 

"He has put doAvn the mighty from their seat, 

And has exalted them of low degree." 

Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully, 

" 'Tis well that such seditious words are sung 

Only by priests and in the Latin tongue ; 

For unto priests and people be it known. 

There is no power can push me from my throne ! " 

And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep. 

Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep. 

When he awoke, it was already night; 
The church was empty, and there was no light. 
Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint. 
Lighted a little space before some saint. 



164 LITERATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

He started from Ms seat and gazed around, 
But saw no living thing and heard no sound. 
He groped towards the door, but it was locked; 
He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked, 
And uttered awful threatenings and complaints 
And imprecations upon men and saints. 
The sounds re-echoed from the roof and walls 
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls. 



At length the sexton, hearing from without 
The tumult of the knocking and the shout, 
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer, 
Came with his lantern, asking, " Who is there ? " 
Half choked with rage. King Eobert fiercely said, 
" Open : 'tis I, the King ! Art thou afraid ? " 
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse, 
" This is some drunken vagabond, or worse ! " 
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide; 
A man rushed by him at a single stride, 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke, 
But leaped into the blackness of the night. 
And vanished like a spectre from his sight. 



Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, 
And Valmond, Emperor' of Allemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire. 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate, 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; 
Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page, 
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair, 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 165 

From hall to hall lie passed with breathless speed; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed, 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room. 
Blazing with light, and breathing with perfume. 



There on the dais sat another king, 

Wearing his robes, his crown, his signet-ring. 

King Robert's self in features, form and height, 

But all transfigured with angelic light! 

It was an Angel; and his presence there 

With a divine effulgence filled the air. 

An exaltation, piercing the disguise. 

Though none the hidden Angel recognize. 



A moment speechless, motionless, amazed. 
The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed. 
Who met his look of anger and surprise 
With the divine compassion of his eyes; 

Then said, "Who art thou? and why com'st thou here?" 

To which King Robert answered with a sneer, 

" I am the King, and come to claim my own 

From an impostor, who usurps my throne ! " 

And suddenly, at these audacious words. 

Up sprang the angry guests, and drew their swords; 

The Angel answered, with unruffled brow, 

" Nay, not the King, but the King's Jester, thou 

Henceforth shalt wear the bells and scalloped cape. 

And for thy counsellor shall lead an ape; 

Thou shalt obey my servants when they call, 

And wait upon my henchmen in the hall ! " 

Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers, 
They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs; 



166 LITEKATtJBE IN THE SCHOOL 

A gTOup of tittering pages ran before, 

And as they opened wide the folding-door, 

His heart failed, for he heard, with strange alarms, 

The boisterous laughter of the men-at-arms. 

And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring 

With the mock plaudits of " Long live the King ! " 

Next morning, waking with the day's first beam, 
He said within himself, " It was a dream ! " 
But the straw rustled as he turned his head. 
There were the cap and bells beside his bed. 
Around him rose the bare, discolored walls. 
Close by, the steeds were champing in their stalls, 
And in the corner, a revolting shape. 
Shivering and chattering, sat the wretched ape. 
It was no dream; the world he loved so much 
Had turned to dust and ashes at his touch! 

Days came and went; and now returned again 

To Sicily the old Saturnian reign; 

Under the Angel's governance benign 

The happy island danced with corn and wine. 

And deep within the mountain's burning breast 

Enceladus, the giant, was at rest. 

Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 

Sullen and silent and disconsolate. 

Dressed in the motley garb that Jesters wear, 

With look bewildered and a vacant stare, 

Close shaven above the ears, as monks are shorn, 

By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, 

His only friend the ape, his only food 

What others left, — he still was unsubdued. 

And when the Angel met him on his way. 

And half in earnest, half in jest, would say, 

Sternly, though tenderly, that he might feel 

The velvet scabbard held a sword of steel, 



CONTKASTED STUDIES 167 

"Art thou the King?" the passion of his woe 
Burst from him in resistless overflow, 
And, lifting high his forehead, he would fling 
The haughty answer back, " I am, I am the King I " 

Almost three years were ended; when there came 

Ambassadors of great repute and name 

From Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 

Unto King Robert, sajdng that Pope Urbane 

By letter summoned them forthwith to come 

On Holy Thursday to his city of Rome. 

The Angel with great joy received his guests, 

And gave them presents of embroidered vests, 

And velvet mantles with rich ermine lined. 

And rings and jewels of the rarest kind. 

Then he departed with them o'er the sea 

Into the lovely land of Italy, 

Whose loveliness was more resplendent made 

By the mere passing of that cavalcade. 

With plumes, and cloaks, and housings, and the stir 

Of jewelled bridle and of golden spur. 

And lo ! among the menials, in mock state. 

Upon a piebald steed, with shambling gait, 

His cloak of fox-tails flapping in the wind, 

The solemn ape demurely perched behind. 

King Robert rode, making huge merriment 

In all the country towns through which they went. 

The Pope received them with great pomp and blare 

Of bannered trumpets, on Saint Peter's square, 

Giving his benediction and embrace, 

Fervent, and full of apostolic grace. 

While with congratulations and with prayers 

He entertained the Angel unawares, 

Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd, 

Into their presence rushed, and cried aloud. 



168 LITERATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

" I am the King ! Look, and behold in me 

Robert, your brother, King of Sicily! 

This man, who wears my semblance to your eyes, 

Is an impostor in a king's disguise. 

Do you not know me? Does no voice within 

Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 

The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien, 

Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene; 

The Emperor, laughing, said, " It is strange sport 

To keep a madman for thy Fool at court ! " 

And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 

Was hustled back among the populace. 

In solemn state the Holy Week went by, 

And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; 

The presence of the Angel, with its light, 

Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 

And with new fervor filled the hearts of men, 

Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again. 

Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, 

With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw, 

He felt within a power unfelt before, 

And, kneeling hmnbly on his chamber floor. 

He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 

Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward. 

And now the visit ending, and once more 

Valmond returning to the Danube's shore, 

Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again 

The land was made resplendent with his train, 

Flashing along the towns of Italy 

Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea. 

And when once more within Palermo's wall, 

And, seated on the throne in his great hall, 

He heard the Angelus from convent towers. 

As if the better world conversed with ours. 

He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher. 

And with a gesture bade the rest retire; 



COlsrTKASTED STUDIES 169 

And when they were alone, the Angel said, 
"Art thou the king?" Then, bowing down his head, 
King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast. 
And meekly answered him : " Thou knowest best ! 
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, 
And in some cloister's school of penitence. 
Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, 
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven." 

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face 

A holy light illumined all the place. 

And through the open window, loud and clear. 

They heard the monks chant in the chapel near. 

Above the stir and tumult of the street: 

'''He has put down the mighty from their seat, 

And has exalted them of low degree ! " 

And through the chant a second melody 

Rose like the throbbing of a single string: 

" I am an Angel, and thou art the King ! " 

King Robert, who was standing near the throne. 

Lifted his eyes, and lo ! he was alone ! 

But all apparelled as in days of old, 

With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold : 

And when his courtiers came, they found him there 

Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer. 

— Longfellow. 

Thought Analysis : 

In the opening lines of this poem : 

"Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane 
And Valmond, Emperor of AUemaine, 
Apparelled in magnificent attire, 
With retinue of many a knight and squire, 



170 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat 
And heard the priests chant the Magnificat," 

the central character is introduced, his station in life de- 
fined, his self-sufficiency intimated. His position in life as 
King of Sicily, and the positions of his brothers as pope 
and emperor, indicate that he is of royal birth and holds 
his place and poM^er not by virtue of inherent v^orth but 
by virtue of family rank. His retinue of many a knight 
and squire indicate his power. His magnificent attire is 
suggestive of the pomp and splendor of great wealth. His 
attitude in church, as hinted at in the significant words, 
"proudly sat," testify to his self -centered attitude of mind. 
His bowed head is merely a matter of form. There is no 
obeisance of spirit toward the higher, spiritual infiuences 
which surround him. This contrast of the man with the 
real demands of his position as a leader is heightened by 
the suggestion that he is unlearned in the classic language 
of the service and must needs be enlightened by the more 
learned servant who interprets the chant: ''Deposuit po- 
tentes de sede, et exaltavit humiles," in the words, ''He 
has put down the mighty from their seat and has exalted 
them of low degree." 

In this chant is set the problem of the poem. Wealth, 
power, station in life, may be the results of the accident of 
birth, but real individual worth is purposed by the inner 
. man. 

King Robert's lack of individual, intrinsic worth is re- 
vealed in his mutterings. These mutterings, too, imply the 
challenge of the truth of the chant so far as he is con- 
cerned. This attitude of mind and the challenge are 
couched in the lines : 

" 'Tis well that such seditious words are sung 
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue; 



CONTRASTED STUDIES 171 

For unto priests and people be it known, 

There is no power can push me from my throne!" 

His contempt for things spiritual is shown in the expres- 
sion, ' ' Only by priests, ' ' for the priest stands as the leader 
toward things spiritual and the mediator with the spirit- 
ual. The King in his self-sufficiency does not recognize 
the one nor feel any need for the other. This attitude of 
contempt and indifference is further shown by the line : 

" And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep." 

With the closing of the first stanza the problem is set 
and its character and movement suggested if not defined. 
This problem is to bring to the consciousness of the King 
the mighty truth of the majestic lines: 

" He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree." 

In the second stanza a sharp contrast is presented. The 
self assurance of King Robert, when possessed of wealth 
and power and consciousness of position, has gone, and we 
have pictured an individual beside himself with fear and 
anger. This fear and anger are betrayed by his tumultu- 
ous knocking and shouting, which are indicative of any- 
thing but kingliness and dignified self-possession. This 
lack of self assurance and dignity are shown in his shout 
to the Sexton: 

" Open : 'tis I, the King ! Art thou afraid? " 

and is still further suggested by the attitude of the 
Sexton : 

" The frightened sexton ... 
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide ; " 



172 LITEKATUEE IInT THE SCHOOL 

and again in the lines : 

" A man rushed by Mm at a single stride, 
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak, 
Who . . . 

Leaped into the blackness of the night 
And vanished." 

Now the reader feels the truth is being made manifest. 
King Robert has been deprived of power, noted in the ab- 
sence of his royal retinue, and of wealth, in being "de- 
spoiled of his magnificent attire. ' ' In the repetition of the 
opening lines of the poem the reader is made aware that 
the ties of royal family still bind him to his kingliness. 

Absence of self-possession is again emphasized in the 
lines : 

" Eobert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane, 
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine, 
Despoiled of his magnificent attire. 
Bareheaded, breathless, and besprent with mire, 
With sense of wrong and outrage desperate. 
Strode on and thundered at the palace gate; 
Rushed through the courtyard, thrusting in his rage 
To right and left each seneschal and page. 
And hurried up the broad and sounding stair. 
His white face ghastly in the torches' glare. 
From hall to hall he passed with breathless speed; 
Voices and cries he heard, but did not heed. 
Until at last he reached the banquet-room," 

and then the author presents a magnificent contrast be- 
tween the midnight blackness of the King 's despair and the 
light and peace in the spiritual presence : 

" Until at last he reached the banquet room. 
Blazing with light and breathing with perfume." 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 173 

In the spiritual presence, the Angel which should pos- 
sess the throne, King Robert is brought face to face with 
the ideal, a fact which he has failed, and still fails, to rec- 
ognize. He is also brought face to face with the fact that 
he has been deprived of wealth and power and position. 
This truth does not flash permanently into consciousness, 
but momentarily only as witnessed in the lines: 

"A moment speechless, motionless, amazed, 
The throneless monarch on the Angel gazed." 

The contrast between Robert as he is and King Robert as 
he ought to be is mirrored sharply in the lines: 

" Who met Ms loolc of anger and surprise 
With the divine compassion of his eyes." 

This is again intensified in the following lines : 

" Who art thou, and why comest thou here ? " 
" I am the King, and come to claim my own 
From an impostor, who usurps my throne." 

In the lines : 

" Suddenly at these audacious words 
Up sprang the angry guests and drew their swords," 

the king receives a further hint that there is a power which 
has deprived him of wealth and position. But hints are of 
no avail, so King Robert must needs become the court fool, 
must wear the jester's bells and scalloped cape, must be- 
come a servant to servants, in order that he may learn the 
lesson of the littleness of selfishness and the largeness of 
service, may learn that the larger self-ish-ness is compassed 
by the larger altruism. 

Pathetic to the spectator, but merely maddening to him, 
is the fact that his own followers are 

" Deaf to King Robert's threats and cries and prayers," 



174 LITERATUEE IK THE SCHOOL 

and so 

" They thrust him from the hall and down the stairs." 

This litter loss of the respect of his former followers is 
voiced in the lines : 

" A group of tittering pages ran before, 
And as they opened wide the folding door, 
His heart failed, for he heard with strange alarms, 
The boisterous laughter of his men-at-arms, 
And all the vaulted chamber roar and ring, 
With the mock plaudits of ' Long live the King ! ' " 

In the expression, "his heart failed," there is a sugges- 
tion that King Robert is coming to a consciousness of the 
real situation v^hich confronts him. The ''mock plaudits" 
of his followers seem to bring to his consciousness the fact 
that they fail to recognize anything kingly in King Robert 
and therefore feel neither kinship nor fellowship with him. 
But the night spent on a bed of straw instead of on a royal 
couch, surrounded by dumb animals instead of courtly re- 
tainers, fails to bring a full sense of the situation in which 
he is. He says, ' ' It was a dream. ' ' The external evidence 
dispels this thought but fails to bring a sense of humility 
and self-abnegation. 

King Robert has lost external wealth and place and 
power. He has left the ties which bind him to Emperor 
Valmond and Pope Urbane. He has left, too, the potential 
possibility of inherent worth. These family ties prevent 
him from realizing the situation, noting the cause, effecting 
the cure. This is well shown in the stanza which teUs that 
during the reign of the Angel, the spiritual ideal, peace 
and plenty dwell in the land. But 

"Meanwhile King Robert yielded to his fate, 
Sullen and silent and disconsolate," 



COKTBASTED STUDIES 175 

with no thought of self-abnegation or of self -regeneration. 

" Dressed in the motley garb that jesters wear, 
With look bewildered and a vacant stare, 
Close shaven above the ears as monks are shorn, 
By courtiers mocked, by pages laughed to scorn, 
His only friend the ape, his only food 
What others left, — Tie still was unsubdued." 

King Robert fails to realize the limitations of self, and 
therefore to grasp the significance of the changed con- 
ditions. 

The Angel (of his better nature) seeks to aid him to 
remove this limitation by making him face the problem in 
the question: 

" Art thou the King? " 

but King Eobert shows his old, unsubdued, self-limited 
spirit in his haughty posture and haughtier reply : 

" I am, I am the King ! " 

and yet there is a hint of kingliness and sense of intrinsic 
worth, a potential possibility in the expression: 

" And lifting high his forehead he would fling 
The haughty answer back." 

It borders on and suggests kingly self-respect, a purposed 
worth. 

The essentials of manhood develop slowly. The spirit of 
man is not regenerated in a day. So we are not sur- 
prised to learn that three years pass without any apparent 
change. During these three years King Robert has brooded 
on his fancied wrongs, depending upon the ties of blood 
through Pope and Emperor to right those wrongs. An- 
other lesson is needed. The sustaining ties must be seve^red. 

The author brings in the summons from Emperor Val- 



176 LITERATUEE IN" THE SCHOOL 

mond to meet Pope Urbane at Rome, with dramatic effect. 
And in the journey, as the royal summons is obeyed, there 
is a sharp contrast between the royal splendor of the Angel, 
the ideal King, and the wretchedness of Eobert, the real 
King, "on piebald steed with shambling gait" — 

" Making huge merriment in all the country towns." 

A fine climax is reached as the Pope receives his guests 
and 

" Robert, the Jester, bursting through the crowd. 
Into their presence rushed and cried aloud, 
*I am the King! Look, and behold in me 
Robert, your brother, King of Sicily ! 
This man who wears my semblance to your eyes, 
Is an impostor in a king's disguise ! ' " 

It is not difficult to imagine the exultant tone in which 
these words ring out, for King Eobert had rested securely 
all these years in the conviction that in the influence of his 
brothers lay his restoration to wealth and place and power. 
Neither is it difficult to imagine his consternation and com- 
plete bewilderment when his brothers fail to respond. Pa- 
thetic indeed is his final appeal: 

" Do you not know me ? Does no voice within 
Answer my cry, and say we are akin ? " 

At this point in the poem the contrast between Emperor 
and Pope should be sharply noted. The Emperor, the man 
of the world, laughs and says : 

" It is strange sport 
To keep a madman for thy Tool at court i " 

But the Pope, typifying the spiritual influence Of the insti- 
tution called the church, whose mission it is to find the 
kingliness in every man and therefore to recognize his 
brotherhood : 



CONTKASTED STUDIES 177 

"In silence, but with troubled mien, 
Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene." 

Thus the last sustaining tie was severed and 

" The poor, baffled Jester in disgrace 
Was hustled back among the populace." 

This ends the first movement of the poem and irresistibly 
there is borne in on consciousness an echo of the chant : 

"He has put down the mighty from their seat." 

There remains of the problem the fact that : 

" He has exalted them of low degree." 

There remains, too, to be taught the sublime lesson that 
within man himself lies the power and the possibility of 
rising "On stepping stones of his dead self to higher 
things. ' ' 

As conditions were made hard for King Eobert to force 
a realization of human limitations and the emptiness of 
self-sufficiency, so conditions are made easy for him to 
aspire to the higher things, to respond to the uplift of spir- 
itual influences, to attain to the ideal. With artistic ef- 
fect, the meeting with the Pope took place on "Holy 
Thursday." With the realization of his abjeetness, there 
comes to King Robert the significance of the spiritual up- 
lift of the Easter season with its appeal to the higher 
things in life. 

"In solemn state the Holy Week went by, 
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky; 
The presence of the Angel, with its light, 
Before the sun rose, made the city bright, 
And with new fervor filled the hearts of men 
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again." 



178 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

This uplifting influence, with its suggestiveness, prepares 
us for a changed attitude on the part of King Robert. 
Therefore we are not surprised when: 

" Even the Jester, on his bed of straw, 

With haggard eyes" (denoting the travail of spirit) "the un- 
wonted splendor saw. 
He felt within a power unfelt before, 
And kneeling humbly on his chamber floor, 
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord 
Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward." 

King Robert has now risen to a full sense of individual 
limitations and to a responsiveness to the higher influences 
and things of life. 

Again the scene shifts and the reader is transported back 
to Sicily, where the final scene is to be enacted. Again the 
Angel mounts the throne. Again he asks: "Art thou the 
King ? ' ' But note the change : 

" King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast. 
And meekly answered him : ' Thou knowest best ! 
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence, 
And in some cloister's school of penitence. 
Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven, 
Walk barefoot, tiU my guilty soul be shriven.' " 

Thus in act and in speech King Robert testifies that there 
has taken place within him an abiding regeneration of 
spirit. 

The movement is now complete, and again we hear the 
chant of the monks: 

" Above the stir and tumult of the street, 
* He has put down the mighty from their seat, 
And has exalted them of low degree.' 
And through the chant a second melody 



CONTRASTED STUDIES 179 

Rose like the throbbing of a single string: 
* I am an Angel and thou art the King ! ' " 

The real and the ideal are now at one. So 

"King Robert, who was standing near the throne, 
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone! 
But all apparelled as in days of old. 
With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold; 
And when the courtiers came, they found him there 
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer." 

Generalizations upon the character will be reserved until 
the close of the two kindred studies, * * Job ' ' and * ' Saul. ' ' 
Suffice it to say, that from an impulse within, though per- 
chance through struggle and pain, through sorrow and an- 
guish of spirit, man rises from the real, the limited, to the 
ideal, the larger limitation. It may be pertinent, too, to 
suggest that the Angel of a man's better nature, the possi- 
bility to which he may aspire, is an indwelling spiritual 
possession, not an external and wholly distinct fact. 



CHAPTER X 

CONTRASTED STUDIES (Continued) 

SAUL 

Said Abner, " At last thou art come ! Ere I tell, ere thou speak, 
Kiss my cheek, wish me well ! " Then I wished it, and did kiss 

his cheek. 
And he, " Since the King, my friend, for thy countenance sent, 
Neither drunken nor eaten have we; nor until from his tent 
Thou return with the joyful assurance the King liveth yet, 
Shall our lip with the honey be bright, with the water be wet. 
For out of the black mid-tent's silence, a space of three days. 
Not a sound hath escaped to thy servants, of prayer nor of praise. 
To betoken that Saul and the spirit have ended their strife. 
And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch sinks back upon life. 

" Yet now my heart leaps, beloved ! God's child with His dew 
On thy gracious gold hair, and those lilies still living and blue 
Just broken to twine round thy harp-strings, as if no wild heat 
Were now raging to torture the desert ! " 

Then I, as was meet. 
Knelt down to the God of my fathers, and rose on my feet. 
And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder. The tent was unlooped; 
I pulled up the spear that obstructed, and under I stooped; 
Hands and knees on the slippery grass-patch, all withered and 

gone. 
That extends to the second enclosure, I groped my way on 
Till I felt where the foldskirts fly open. Then once more I 

prayed, 
And opened the foldskirts and entered, and was not afi'aid. 



COISTTEASTED STUDIES 181 

But spoke, " Here is David, thy servant ! " And no voice replied. 
At the first I saw naught but the blackness; but soon I descried 
A something more black than the blackness — ^the vast, the upright 
Main prop that sustains the pavilion: and slow into sight 
Grew a figure against it, gigantic and blackest of all. 
Then a sunbeam, that burst through the tent-roof, showed Saul. 



He stood as erect as that tent-prop, both arms stretched out wide 
On the great cross-support in the centre, that goes to each side; 
He relaxed not a muscle, but hung there as, caught in his pangs 
And waiting his change, the king serpent all heavily hangs. 
Far away from his kind, in the pine, till deliverance come 
With the spring-time, — so agonized Saul, drear and stark, blind 
and dumb. 



Then I tuned my harp, — took off the lilies we twine round its 

chords 
Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide — those sunbeams 

like swords! 
And I first played the tune all our sheep know, as, one after one, 
So docile they come to the pen-door till folding be done. 
They are white and untorn by the bushes, for lo, they have fed 
Where the long grasses stifle the water within the stream's bed; 
And now one after one seeks its lodging, as star follows star 
Into eve and the blue far above us, — so blue and so far! 

— Then the tune, for which quails on the cornland will each leave 

his mate 
To fly after the player; then, what makes the crickets elate 
Till for boldness they fight one another: and then, what has 

weight 
To set the quick jerboa a-musing outside his sand house — 
There are none such as he for a wonder, half bird and half mouse ! 
God made all the creatures and gave them our love and our fear. 
To give sign, we and they are His children, one family here. 



182 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

Then I played the help-tune of our reapers, their wine-song, 

when hand 
Grasps at hand, eye lights eye in good friendship, and great 

hearts expand 
And grow one in the sense of this world's life. — And then, the 

last song 
When the dead man is praised on his journey — " Bear, bear him 

along 
With his few faults shut up like dead flowrets! Are balm seeds 

not here 
To console us? The land has none left such as he on the bier. 
Oh, would we might keep thee, my brother ! " — And then, the 

glad chant 
Of the marriage, — first go the young maidens, next, she whom 

we vaunt 
As the beauty, the pride of our dwelling. — And then, the great 

march 
Wherein man runs to man to assist him and buttress an arch 
Naught can break; who shall harm them, our friends? Then the 

chorus intoned 
As the Levites go up to the altar in glory enthroned. 
But I stopped here : for here in the darkness Saul groaned. 

And I paused, held my breath in such silence, and listened 

apart ; 
And the tent shook, for mighty Saul shuddered: and sparkles 

'gan dart 
From the jewels that woke in his turban at once with a start 
All its lordly male-sapphires, and rubies courageous at heart. 
So the head: but the body still moved not, still hung there erect. 
And I bent once again to my playing, pursued it unchecked, 
As I sang 

" Oh, our manhood's prime vigor ! No spirit feels waste, 
Not a muscle is stopped in its playing nor sinew unbraced. 



COFTEASTED STUDIES 183 

Oh, the wild joys of living ! the leaping from rock up to rock, 
The strong rending of boughs from the fir-tree, the cool silver 

shock 
Of the plunge iu a pool's living water, the hunt of the bear, 
And the sultriness showing the lion is couched in his lair. 
And the meal, the rich dates yellowed over with gold dust divine, 
And the locust-flesh steeped in the pitcher, the full draught of 

wine. 
And the sleep in the dried river-channel where bulrushes tell 
That the water was wont to go warbUng so softly and well. 
How good is man's life, the mere living! how fit to employ 
All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy! 
Hast thou loved the white locks of thy father, whose sword thou 

didst guard 
When he trusted thee forth with the armies, for glorious reward? 
Didst thou see the thin hands of thy mother, held up as men sung 
The low song of the nearly departed, and hear her faint tongue 
Joining in while it could to the witness, ' Let one more attest 
I have lived, seen God's hand through a lifetime, and all was for 

best ! ' 
Then they sung through their tears ia strong triumph, not much, 

but the rest. 
And thy brothers, the help and the contest, the working whence 

grew 
Such results as, from seething grape-bundles, the spirit strained 

true: 
And the friends of thy boyhood — that boyhood of wonder and hope, 
Present promise and wealth of the future beyond the eye's scope, 
Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch ; a people is thine ; 
And all gifts, which the world offers singly, on one head combine ! 
On one head, all the beauty and strength, love and rage (like the 

throe 
That, a-work in the rock, helps its labor and lets the gold go) 
High ambition and deeds which surpass it, fame crowning them, — 

all 
Brought to blaze on the head of one creature — King Saul ! " 



184 LITEEATUEE IN" THE SCHOOL 

And lo, with that leap of my spirit, — heart, hand, harp and voice, 
Each lifting Saul's name out of sorrow, each bidding rejoice 
Saul's fame in the light it was made for — as when, dare I say. 
The Lord's army, in rapture of service, strains through its array. 
And upsoareth the cherubim-chariot — " Saul ! " cried I, and 

stopped, 
And waited the thing that should follow. Then Saul who hung 

propped 
By the tent's cross-support in the centre, was struck by his name. 
Have ye seen when Spring's arrowy summons goes right to the 

aim, 
And some mountain, the last to withstand her, that held (he alone, 
While the vale laughed in freedom and flowers) on a broad bust 

of stone 
A year's snow bound about for a breastplate, — leaves grasp of 

the sheet? 
Fold on fold all at once it crowds thunderously down to his feet. 
And there fronts you, stark, black, but alive yet, your mountain 

of old, 
With his rents, the successive bequeathings of ages untold — 
Yea, each harm got in fighting your battles, each furrow and scar 
Of his head thrust 'twixt you and the tempest — all hail, there 

they are! 
Now again to be softened with verdure, again hold the nest 
Of the dove, tempt the goat and its young to the green on his crest 
For their food in the ardors of summer. One long shudder thrilled 
All the tent till the very air tingled, then sank and was stilled 
At the King's self left standing before me, released and aware. 
What was gone, what remained? All to traverse 'twixt hope and 

despair. 
Death was past, life not come: so he waited. Awhile his right 

hand 
Held the brow, helped the eyes, left too vacant, forthwith to 

remand 
To their place what new objects should enter: 'twas Saul as 

before. 
I looked up and dared gaze at those eyes, nor was hurt any more 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 185 

Than by slow pallid sunsets in autumn, ye watch from the shore, 
At their sad level gaze o'er the ocean — a sun's slow decline 
Over hills which, resolved in stern silence, o'erlap and" entwine 
Base with base to knit strength more intensely : so, arm folded arm 
O'er the chest whose slow heavings subsided. 

What spell or what charm 
(For, a while there was trouble within me), what next should I 

urge 
To sustain him where song had restored him? Song filled to 

the verge 
His cup with the wine of this Ufe, pressing all that it yields 
Of mere fruitage, the strength and the beauty: beyond, on what 

fields. 
Glean a vintage more potent and perfect to brighten the eye 
And bring blood to the lip, and commend them the cup they put 

by? 
He saith, " It is good ; " still he drinks not : he lets me praise life, 
Gives assent, yet would die for his own part. 

Then fancies grew rife 
Which had come long ago on the pasture, when round me the 

sheep 
Fed in silence — above, the one eagle wheeled slow as in sleep, 
And I lay in my hollow and mused on the world that might lie 
'Neath his ken, though I saw but the strip 'twixt the hill and the 

sky. 
And I laughed — " Since my days are ordained to be passed with 

my flocks. 
Let me people at least, with my fancies, the plains and the rocks, 
Dream the life I am never to mix with, and image the show 
Of mankind as they live in those fashions I hardly shall know ! 
Schemes of life, its best rules and right uses, the courage that 

gains. 
And the prudence that keeps what men strive for." And now 

these old trains 



186 LITEBATURB IN" THE SCHOOL 

Of vague thought came again; I grew surer; so, once more the 

string 
Of my harp made response to my spirit, as thus — 



"Yea, my King," 
I began — " thou dost well in rejecting mere comforts that spring 
From the mere mortal life held in common by man and by brute : 
In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our soul it bears fruit. 
Thou hast marked the slow rise of the tree, — how its stem trem- 
bled first 
Till it passed the kid's lip, the stag's antler; then safely outburst 
The fan-branches all round; and thou mindest when these too, in 

turn 
Broke a-bloom and the palm-tree seemed perfect: yet more was 

to learn, 
E'en the good that comes in with the palm-fruit. Our dates shall 

we slight. 
When their juice brings a cure for all sorrow? or care for the 

plight 
Of the palm's self whose slow growth produced them? Not so! 

stem and branch 
Shall decay, nor be known in their place, while the palm-wine 

shall stanch 
Every wound of man's spirit in winter, I pour thee such wine. 
Leave the flesh to the fate it was fit for ! the spirit be thine ! 
By the spirit, when age shall o'ercome thee, thou still shalt enjoy 
More indeed, than at first when, inconseious, the life of a boy. 
Crush that life, and behold its wine running! Each deed thou 

hast done 
Dies, revives, goes to work in the world; until e'en as the sun 
Looking down on the earth, though clouds spoil him, though 

tempests efface. 
Can find nothing his own deed produced not, must everywhere 

trace 
The results of his past summer-prime, — so, each ray of thy will, 
Every flash of thy passion and prowess, long over, shall thrill 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 187 

Thy whole people, the countless, with ardor, till they too give 

forth 
A like cheer to their sons, who in turn, fill the South and the 

North 
With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. Carouse in the 

past! 
But the license of age has its limit; thou diest at last. 
As the lion when age dims his eyeball, the rose at her height. 
So with man — so his power and his beauty forever take flight. 
No ! Again a long draught of my soul-Avine ! Look forth o'er the 



years 



Thou hast done now with eyes for the actual; begin with the 

seer's ! 
Is Saul dead? In the depth of the vale make his tomb — ^bid arise 
A gray moimtain of marble heaped four-square, till, built to the 

skies, 
Let it mark where the great First King slumbers: whose fame 

would ye know? 
Up above see the rock's naked face, where the record shall go 
In great characters cut by the scribe, — such was Saul, so he did; 
With the sages directing the work, by the populace chid, — 
For not half, they'll affirm, is comprised there ! Which fault to 

amend, 
In the grove with his kind grows the cedar, whereon they shall 

spend 
(See in tablets 'tis level before them) their praise, and record 
With the gold of the graver, Saul's story, — ^the statesman's great 

word 
Side by side with the poet's sweet comment. The river's a-wave 
With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other when prophet-winds 

rave: 
So the pen gives unborn generations their due and their part 
In thy being ! Then, first of the mighty, thank God that thou art ! " 

And behold while I sang — ^but Thou who didst grant me that 

day. 
And, before it, not seldom hast granted Thy help to essay, 



188 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

Carry on and complete an adventure, — my shield and my sword 
In that act where my soul was Thy servant, Thy word was my 

word, — 
Still be with me, who then at the summit of human endeavor 
And scaling the highest, man's thought could, gazed hopeless as 

ever 
On the new stretch of heaven above me — till, mighty to save, 
Just one lift of Thy hand cleared that distance — God's throne 

from man's grave ! 
Let me tell out my tale to its ending — ^my voice to my heart 
Which can scarce dare believe in what marvels last night I took 

part, 
As this morning I gather the fragments, alone with my sheep ! 
And still fear lest the terrible glory evanish like sleep. 
For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while Hebron upheaves 
The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder, and Eadron re- 
trieves 
Slow the damage of yesterday's sunshine. 



I say then, — my song 
Whiile I sang thus, assuring the monarch, and, ever more strong, 
Made a proffer of good to console him — he slowly resumed 
His old motions and habitudes kingly. The right hand replumed 
His black locks to their wonted composure, adjusted the swathes 
Of his turban, and see — ^the huge sweat that his countenance 

bathes. 
He wipes off with the robe ; and he girds now his loias as of yore, 
And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the clasp set before. 
He is Saul, ye remember in glory, — ere error had bent 
The broad brow from, the daily communion; and still, though 

much spent 
Be the life and the bearing that front you, the same, God did 

choose. 
To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose. 
So sank he along by the tent-prop, till, stayed by the pile 
Of his armor and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile. 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 189 

And sat out my singing, — one arm round the tent-prop to raise 
His bent head, and the other hung slack — till I touched on the 

praise 
I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man patient there; 
And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then first I was 

'ware 
That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees 
Which were thrust out on each side around me, like oak-roots 

which please 
To encircle a lamb when it slumbers. I looked up to know 
If the best I could do had brought solace : he spoke not, but slow 
Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till he laid it with care 
Soft and grave, but in a mild settled will, on my brow: through 

my hair 
The large fingers were pushed, and he bent back my head, with 

kind power — 
All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower. 
Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine — 
And oh, all my heart how it loved him! but where was the sign? 
I yearned — " Could I help thee, my father, inventing a bliss, 
I would add, to that life of the past, both the future and this; 
I would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence. 
As this moment, — had love but the warrant, love's heart to dis- 
pense ! " 



Then the truth came upon me. No harp more — ^no song more! 
outbroke — 



" I have gone the whole round of creation : I saw and I spoke ; 
I, a work of God's hand for that purpose, received in my brain 
And pronounced on the rest of his handwork — returned him again 
His creation's approval of censure: I spoke as I saw. 
I report, as a man may of God's work — all's love, yet all's law. 
Now I lay down the judgeship he lent me. Each faculty tasked 
To perceive him, has gained an abyss, where a dewdrop was asked. 



190 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

Have I knowledge? confounded it shrivels at Wisdom laid bare. 
Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank, to the Infinite 

Care! 
Do I task any faculty highest, to image success? 
I but open my eyes, — and perfection, no more and no less, 
In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and God is seen God 
In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod. 
And thus looking within and around me, I ever renew 
(With that stoop of the soul which in bending upraises it too) 
The submission of man's nothing-perfect to God's all-complete, 
As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to His feet. 
Yet with all this abounding experience, this deity known, 
I shall dare to discover some province, some gift of my own. 
There's a faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to hoodwink, 
I am fain to keep still in abeyance (I laugh as I think), 
Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it, wot ye, I worst 
E'en the Giver in one gift. — Behold, I could love if I durst ! 
But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may o'ertake 
God's own speed in the one way of love: I abstain for love's 

sake 
■■ — ^What, my soul? see thus far and no farther? when doors great 

and small, 
Nine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should the hundredth 

appall ? 
In the least things have faith, yet distrust in the greatest of all? 
Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift. 
That I doubt His own love can compete with it? Here the parts 

shift? 
Here, the creature surpass the creator, — the end, what began? 
Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for this man. 
And dare doubt He alone shall not help him, who yet alone 

can? 
Would it ever have entered my mind, the bare will, much less 

power. 
To bestow on this Saul what I sang of, the marvellous dower 
Of the life he was gifted and filled with? to make such a soul, 
Such a body, and then such an earth for insphering the whole? 



CONTKASTED STUDIES 191 

And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm tears attest) 
These good things being given, to go on, and give one more, the 

best? 
Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, maintain at the height 
This perfection, — succeed, with life's dayspring, death's minute 

of night? 
Interpose at the difficult minute, snatch Saul, the mistake, 
Saul, the failure, the ruin he seems now, — and bid him awake 
From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set 
Clear and safe in new light and new life, — a new harmony yet 
To be run, and continued, and ended — who knows? — or endure! 
The man taught enough by life's dream, of the rest to make sure; 
By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning intensified bliss, 
And the next world's reward and repose, by the struggles in this. 

" I believe it ! 'Tis Thou, God, that givest, 'tis I who receive : 

In the first is the last, in Thy will is my power to believe. 

All's one gift: Thou canst grant it moreover, as prompt to my 

prayer. 
As I breathe out this breath, as I open these arms to the air. 
From Thy will stream the worlds, life and nature. Thy dread 

Sabaoth : 
I will? — the mere atoms despise me! Why am I not loth 
To look that, even that in the face too? Why is it I dare 
Think but lightly of such impuissance? What stops my despair? 
This; — 'tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man 

Would do! 
See the King — ^I would help him, but cannot, the wishes fall 

through. 
Could I wrestle to raise him from sorrow, grow poor to enrich. 
To fill up his life, starve my own out, I would — knowing which, 
I know that my service is perfect. Oh, speak through me now! 
Would I suffer for him that I love? So wouldst Thou — so wilt 

Thou! 
So shall crown Thee the topmost, ineffablest, uttermost crown 
And Thy love fill infinitude wholly, nor leave up nor down 
One spot for the creature to stand in! It is by no breath, 
Turn of eye, wave of hand, that salvation joins issue with death! 



192 LITEKATUKE IN" THE SCHOOL 

As Thy love is discovered almighty; almighty be proved 
Thy power, that exists with and for it, of being beloved ! 
He who did most, shall bear most; the strongest shall stand the 

most weak. 
'Tis the weakness in strength, that I cry for ! my flesh, that I seek 
In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. Sanl, it shall be 
A Face like my face that receives thee ; a Man like to me. 
Thou shalt love and be loved by, forever : a Hand like this hand 
Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee; see the Christ 

stand ! " 

I know not too well how I f omid my way home in the night. 

There were witnesses, cohorts about me, to left and to right, 

Angels, powers, the unuttered, unseen, the alive, the aware: 

I repressed, I got through them as hardly, as strugglingly there, 

As a runner beset by the populace famished for news — 

Life or death. The whole earth was awakened, hell loosed with 

her crews; 
And the stars of night beat with emotion, and tingled and shot 
Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowledge : but I fainted not. 
For the Hand still impelled me at once and supported, suppressed 
All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and holy behest, 
Till the rapture was shut in itself, and the earth sank to rest. 
Anon at the dawn, all that trouble had withered from earth — 
Not so much, but I saw it die out in the day's tender birth; 
In the gathered intensity brought to the gray of the hills; 
In the shuddering forests' held breath ; in the sudden wind-thrills ; 
In the startled wild beasts that bore off, each with eye sidling still 
Though averted with wonder and dread ; in the birds stiff and chill 
That rose heavily as I approached them, made stupid with awe: 
E'en the serpent that slid away silent — he felt the new law. 
The same stared in the white humid faces upturned by the flowers ; 
The same worked in the heart of the cedar and moved the vine- 
bowers. 
And the brooks witnessing murmured, persistent and low, 
With their obstinate, all but hushed voices — " E'en so, it is so ! " 

— Bobert Browning 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 193 

Thought Analysis: 

The theme of this masterful poem was suggested to 
Browning by the 14th to 20th verses of Chapter XVI of the 
First Book of Samuel: 

" The spirit of the Lord departed from Saul and an evil spirit 
troubled him. . . . 

" And Saul said unto his servants, Provide me now a man that 
can play well, and bring him to me. . . . And David came to 
Saul and stood before him. . . . 

" And David took an harp, and played with his hand : so Saul 
was refreshed, and was well, and the evil spirit departed from 
him." 

David and Saul are the central characters in the poem. 
Abner, cousin to Saul and commander of the army, serves 
to introduce David and to indicate his task. David was 
the son of Jesse the Bethlehemite. He was cunning in play- 
ing, and a mighty valiant man, and a man of war, and pru- 
dent in matters, and a comely person, and the Lord was 
with him. Saul was the "Great First King" of Israel. 
This sets the theme in general time and particular place. 

In his abrupt beginning, "Said Abner, 'At last thou art 
come','' the author stimulates the imagination and arouses 
the curiosity. The curiosity thus aroused. desires to know: 
Who has come ? For what purpose ? Why expected ? This 
information is held in abeyance while an oriental formal 
ceremony of salutation is complied with. After this formal 
greeting, the author proceeds to gratify this curiosity, to 
state the conditions and to set the problem. 

In the explanatory remarks of Abner interest is aroused 
in the problem which confronts David, and also in the 
means which he may employ in the solution of that prob- 
lem, the effects of these means, and the final outcome of 



194 LITERATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

the struggle. The author thus expands the original curi- 
osity into permanent interest. 
The problem is set in the lines: 

" Since the King, my friend, for thy countenance sent, 
Neither drunken nor eaten have we; nor until from his tent 
Thou return with the joyful assurance the King liveth yet, 
Shall our lip with the honey be bright, with the water be wet." 

These lines convey the impression that the need pertains to 
the King and that it is an urgent need. The fasting is 
indicative of the devotion of the people to their King. 
This devotion and high regard are further indicated in the 
phrase, — "with the joyful assurance," which also is ex- 
pressive of their hope and faith in David. 

In the lines which follow, demands are made upon the 
imagination to picture Saul shut in from his people and 
the light and joy of life. His withdrawal from kindred 
and followers in the tent within the tent gives emphasis to 
the fact that Saul has divorced himself from life relations 
and fellowship with human kind. This withdrawal from 
sympathy, and fellowship with his kind, is forcibly ex- 
pressed in the lines: 

" For out of the black mid-tent's silence, a space of three days. 
Not a sound hath escaped to thy servants, of prayer nor of praise, 
To betoken that Saul and the spirit have ended their strife, 
And that, faint in his triumph, the monarch sinks back upon life." 

In this last line the assurance of confidence in the mon- 
arch's ability to triumph over the afflictions of the spirit 
is expressed, also his need for the sustaining power of life 
relations, in the sympathy and support through fellowship 
with human kind. This confidence, born of desire, is ac- 
centuated by confidence in David which is expressed in the 
exclamation, "Yet now my heart leaps, beloved!" The 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 195 

reader shares this hope and faith in David's power and 
purpose because of his ready response to the call of Duty. 
The promptness of this response is suggested by the refer- 
ence to the harp with its strings wrapped and protected by 
"those lilies still living and 'blue." 

The keynote of David's character is expressed in his rec- 
ognition of a sustaining power with which he puts himself 
in sympathetic relationship. This recognition is voiced in 
the expression: 

" Then I, as was meet, 
Knelt down to the God of my fathers," 

His full confidence in the sustaining grace of this power 
is beautifully indicated in the remainder of the sentence : 

" . . . . and rose on my feet, 
And ran o'er the sand burnt to powder." 

At this point in the development of the theme the atten- 
tion is directed back to Saul and the fact that he is out of 
harmony with all the relations that make up the normal 
life. This unnatural condition of Saul is intensified by 
contrast with David, who, as he surmounts the obstacles 
which Saul has placed between himself and life and has 
come face to face with his problem, says: 

" . . . . Then once more I prayed. 

And opened the f oldskirts and entered, and was not afraid 

But spoke, ' Here is David, thy servant ! ' And no voice replied." 

Out of relationship with life and living, Saul fails to re- 
spond to human influence and human appeal. 

In this whole stanza is made a splendid appeal to the 
imagination which should be exercised to the fuUest extent. 
The desert country with its "sand burnt to powder," "the 
slippery grass-patch, all withered and gone," the tent 



196 LITEKATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

within the tent, the pitchy blackness, the ''something more 
black than the blackness," the main prop of the pavilion, 
the figure against it, the sunbeam bursting through the tent- 
roof — all give in a vivid way the individual setting in place 
in which the theme is to unfold. Symbolic, too, is the dark- 
ness. Saul is enshrouded in the midnight blackness of 
despair and hopelessness and despondency of spirit. David 
must grope his way through these clouds of uncertainty 
and doubt and darkness, must dispel the forces of dark- 
ness and doubt, must illumine the mind and spirit of the 
Great Ruler. In these lines are recorded the strokes of the 
word-painter poet. 

The intensity of the struggle, the soul-tension, is vividly 
portrayed in the picture of Saul, with arms outstretched, 
erect, tense, motionless, veritably nailed to his cross. "So 
agonized Saul, drear and stark, blind and dumb." 

Here, then, is set the problem and the task of David. He 
must take Saul from this cross of agony; restore him to a 
sense of life and life relations; make him conscious and 
appreciative of his opportunities with their concomitant 
responsibilities. The movement of the poem sets forth the 
means employed by David to accomplish this change in 
Saul, and their effects in the solution of the problem. 

Most artistically does the author again call to mind the 
readiness with which David has responded to the call of 
Duty by once more referring to the ''lilies, fresh and 
blue," and referring also to the "sunbeams like swords" 
which soon would have withered them. 

" Then I tuned my harp, — took off the lilies we twine round its 

chords 
Lest they snap 'neath the stress of the noontide — those sunbeams 

like swords ! " 

The art of the movement lies in the exquisite diversity of 



CONTKASTED STUDIES 197 

the song and the versatility of the singer. First there is 
the musical note of appeal — the soothing, calling note em- 
ployed by the shepherd to draw home his flock at eventide. 
It is employed by David to arrest the attention of Saul 
instinctively — even as other animals, dumb of spirit, in- 
stinctively attend and respond. This call to the passive 
attention is indicated in the lines: 

" And I first played the tune all our sheep know, as one after one, 
So docile they come to the jjen-door till folding be done." 

From the appeal of the soothing, calling note, the tune 
changes to the livelier calling note 

" For which quails in the cornland will each leave his mate, 
To fly after the player." 

Then the music changes to a lively, spirited movement that 

— "makes crickets elate 
Till for boldness they fight one another." 

Again the music shifts to a drowsy, soothing theme which 

" has weight 
To set the quick jerboa a-musing outside his sand house." 

At this point the author interrupts the flow of the theme 
as it pertains to David and his problem of furnishing the 
means to effect the regeneration of Saul, to emphasize the 
unnaturalness of Saul's attempt to live in defiance of — or 
indifference to — the established and wisely ordered rela- 
tions of life. This he does with artistic effect in the lines : 

" God made all the creatures and gave them our love and our fear, 
To give sign we and they are his children, one family here." 

From the appeal to the dumb instincts of life the singer 
turns to the theme of human relationships in every phase 
and form and to the need of human fellowship in all the 



198 LITEKATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

ways of life. The force and power of this outburst of 
music, with its shifting, varied theme, are best expressed 
by the author: 

" Then I played the help-tune of our reapers " . . . , 

" Then the last song when the dead man is praised on his 

journey," . . . 
" Then the glad chant of the marriage," . . . 
" Then the great march "... 

the martial note with its stirring appeal to active service 
for home and country, 

" Then the chorus intoned 
As the Levites go up to the altar in glory enthroned." 

In this movement the gamut of life has been run. In 
labor and recreation, in joy and in sorrow, in the stress 
and strain of war, in the fervor of religious devotion, in 
everything pertaining to life temporal and life spiritual, 
there is an imperative need for human fellowship and hu- 
man relationships. There is imperative need, too, for mu- 
tual dependence, for mutual sharing and serving. 

The reader is prepared for the effect of this passionate 
outburst by the abrupt breaking off as indicated in : 

" But I stopped here : for here in the darkness Saul groaned." 

The attention of the great monarch has been secured. 
His emotions and intellect have responded to the appeal. 
He has recognized the forcefulness of the mighty truths of 
human life with its manifold relations as voiced by the 
gifted harper. But he does not surrender himself to this 
fellowship and these relationships of human life. 

" And I paused, held my breath in such silence, and listened 

apart ; 
And the tent shook, for mighty Saul shuddered: and sparkles 

'gan dart ♦ 



CONTKASTED STUDIES 199 

From the jewels that woke in his turban at once with a start, 
All its lordly male-sapphires and rubies courageous at heart. 
So the head; but the hody moved not." 

Progress has been recorded, but the task is "imfiiiished, the 
problem unsolved. 

The theme shifts. Up to this point the song has been the 
song of life in general — ^now it becomes the life of man in 
particular. In the first part of this new movement is por- 
trayed the joy of mere physical life — the eating and drink- 
ing, and sleeping, the sports and recreations and trials of 
strength, all testify to the joy and intensity of physical 
being. To this theme the harper returns again and again, 
as witnessed in the expressions : 

" Oh, our manhood's prime vigor ! " . . . 

" Oh, the wild joys of living ! " . . . 

" How good is man's life, the mere living ! how fit to employ 

All the heart and the soul and the senses forever in joy ! " 

But suddenly, with climactic effect the singer changes the 
theme from the mere joys of living to the more significant 
theme of the responsibilities which go with life. He directs 
the attention, through the theme, with consummate art, to 
the hopes and aspirations, to the aims and ambitions, to the 
opportunities and responsibilities of Saul's own individual 
life. In a particular and profoundly significant sense, 
David emphasizes the relationships and fellowships, the 
hopes and ambitions, the opportunities and responsibilities 
which attend each individual life and which must find 
being and significance in the joys of living. This personal 
appeal is voiced in the lines : 

" Hast thou loved the white locks of thy father whose sword thou 

didst guard. 
When he trusted thee forth with the armies for a glorious 

reward?" 



200 LITERATUEE IIST THE SCHOOL 

Out of these human and individual relations had come 
Saul's opportunities to gratify his ambitions, but with the 
opportunities came the inevitable responsibilities — as in- 
dicated in: 

" Who trusted thee forth with the armies ; 
Whose sword thou didst guard." 

Saul's obligation to family and his individual responsi- 
bility for family standards are still further intensified by 
the beautiful allusion to his mother as she is about to pass 
through the valley and shadow of death : 

" Didst thou see the thin hands of thy mother, held up as men sung 
The low song of the nearly departed, and hear her faint tongue 
Joining in while it could to the witness, ' Let one more attest 
I have lived, seen God's hand through a lifetime;' {of joy and 

sorrow, of opportunity and responsibility), 'and all was 

for best ' ! " 

This theme of personal responsibility is further extended 
to brothers and friends, to the promises and fulfillment of 
a wonderful boyhood: 

" Till lo, thou art grown to a monarch ; a people is thine ; 

And all gifts," {which the world usually distributes among the 

many), "on one head combine! 
On one head all the beauty and strength, love and rage, . . . 
High ambition and deeds which surpass it, fame crowning them, 

— aU 
Brought to blaze on the head of one creature, — King Saul ! " 

In this splendid, climactic outburst is voiced the fact 
that place and position and wealth and power combine to 
express the one sublime truth of individual responsibility. 
And with this splendid uplift of vision and superb out- 
burst the harper cried : * ' Saul ! ' ' 

" and stopped 
" And waited the thing that should follow." 



CONTRASTED STUDIES 201 

In the intense appeal to the imagination which follows, 
in which Saul is likened to a vast, isolated mountain peak 
which, too, seems divorced from the relationships of life, 
the mind is led to Saul released, restored to life in a passive 
sense. He has become sensitive to the opportunities and 
responsibilities of life but he has not been persuaded to 
actively seize the one or to courageously bear the other. 
Much progress has been made in the unfolding of the theme 
in thus arousing Saul to a recognition of the demands of 
life. There is now set the new problem of giving him a 
fit incentive for actively participating in the relationships 
and the demands of life, and of convincing him that life 
is purposeful activity, not mere passivity. 

In "girding up his soul's loins" for this new test of 
strength and ability, David gives a forcible suggestion of 
the value of reserved strength or power. He intimates his 
purposing to draw upon a reserve which he had built up 
during his hours and days of leisure as he lay on the 
meadow with face to the sky while his flocks fed in peace 
and harmony about him. These hours were spent — this 
reserve was built up — in the contemplation of life and its 
relationships at their highest and best. These meditations 
he voices in: 

" Schemes of life, its best rules and right uses, the courage that 

gains 
And the prudence that keeps what men strive for." 

On this reserve he now confidently draws in his hour of 
need. 

"And now those old trains 
Of vague thoughts came again; I grew surer." 

And now with a mighty leap David rises from the theme 
of individual relationships and temporal responsibility to 
the universal relationships and spiritual responsibility. 



202 LITEEATUEB IN THE SCHOOL 

He lifts the theme from a contemplation of finite to the con- 
templation of infinite relationships. 

After commending the attitude of the King toward 
life in: 

" '■ thou dost well in rejecting mere comforts that spring 
From the mere mortal life/ "... 

David rises to his higher theme: 

" Leave the flesh to the fate it was fit for ! the spirit be thine ! " 

Then in a sublime outburst the singer voices the sentiment 
or idea that in the infinite reaches of time there is no escape 
from the consequences and the responsibilities of individ- 
ual life : 

" ' Each deed thou hast done, 
Dies, revives, goes to work in the world; . . . 

— so, each ray of thy will, 
Every flash of thy passion and prowess, long over, shall thrill 
Thy whole people, the countless, vsdth ardor, till they too give 

forth 
A like cheer to their sons: who in turn, fill the South and the 

North 
With the radiance thy deed was the germ of ! ' " 

From the responsibilities of home and family life, the 
theme has risen to the responsibilities of life universal. 
From the responsibilities of past and present the theme 
directs the attention to the inevitable responsibilities of the 
future : 

"'Look forth o'er the years! 
Thou hast done now with eyes for the actual : begin with the 
seer's ! ' " 

Then follows the vivid picture of Saul's death, his tomb, 
the record of his life, the attitude of his followers. 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 203 

" ' Saul's story, — the statesman's great word 
Side by side with the poet's sweet comment.' " 

And 

" ' The pen gives unborn generations their due and their part 
In thy being! Then, first of the mighty, thank God that thou 
art!'" 

In this closing line are revealed the full dignity and worth 
of individual life. It is the realization of this dignity and 
worth in a sublime sense which discovers Saul to himself. 
The effect of this realization and the effect of this uplift 
are revealed in the expression: 

" He slowly resumed 
His old motions and habitudes kingly." 

"With this return of self-possession and self-respect : 

" The right hand replmned 
His black locks . . . adjusted the swathes 

Of his turban, . . . the huge sweat that his countenance bathes 
He wipes off with the robe ; and he girds now his loins as of yore, 
And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the clasp set before, 
He is Saul, ye remember in glory, — ere error had bent 
The broad brow from the daily communion, . . . 
. . . the same God did choose. 
To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose." 

This last expression suggests the majestic truth of the 
lesser poet: 

" In the godlike wreck of nature 
Sin doth in the sinner leave. 
That he may regain the stature 
He hath lost." 

Saul has thus been restored. Has he been sustained? 
This is to be determined by the test of David's sincerity 



204 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

and guilelessness. This test is made as Saul relaxed beside 
David, pushed his fingers through David's hair, bent back 
David's face so that he might gaze into it, study it, and 
study also the purpose, the sincerity, the truth, the man- 
hood back of it. 

" He sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees 

.... and he bent back my head, with kind power — 

Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine." 

David rings true to this test and assures Saul that back of 
his songs, his message, are the promptings of the love of 
man for fellow-man. With this assurance there rushes 
into consciousness the majestic truth that all the relation- 
ships of life, human and divine, find their being and sig- 
nificance in eternal Love and Law. 

The movement, dealing with the restoring and sustaining 
of Saul to the dignity of manhood and the responsibilities 
of life, has been completed. There remains the completion 
of the theme, which gives dignity and worth to life and its 
relations, and which also gives being and significance to 
the sustaining power of David. In this final movement the 
climax of the theme as a whole is reached. This movement 
within the movement has been hinted at in the general un- 
folding of the theme. This movement suggests that human 
relationships with their opportunities and responsibilities 
find their worth and being in spiritual relationships ; that 
these finite relationships, passing out of their limitations, 
find their being and significance in the infinite relations 
which are established in infinite Love and infinite Law. 

This movement toward the sustaining power was first 
hinted at in the line: 

" Then I, as was meet, knelt down to the God of my fathers." 

and again in: 

" Then once more I prayed." 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 205 

It is again approached in the expression: 

" God made all the creatures and gave them our love and our fear, 
To give sign we and they are his children, one family here." 

It again finds expression in the testimony of Saul's mother: 

" ' Let one more attest 
I have lived, seen God's hand through a lifetime, and all was for 

best!'" 

and again, in David's outburst: 

" Thou, . . . my shield and my sword, 
Still be with me." 

These relations of the finite vrith the infinite seem based 
upon the unexpressed fact that, if created in the image and 
likeness of his Maker, the finite vrills in kind, but not in 
degree, with the infinite. In one of his inspired outbursts 
David expresses his belief in this likeness in kind, but dif- 
ference in degree, of the finite and the infinite: 

" ' I but open my eyes and perfection no more and no less, 
In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and God is seen God 
In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod. 
And thus looking within and around me, I ever renew 
(With that stoop of the soul which in bending upraises it too) 
The submission of man's nothing-perfect to God's all-complete, 
As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to his feet.' " 

Again David emphasizes this truth : 

" ' Do I find love so full in my nature, God's ultimate gift. 
That I doubt his own love can compete with it ? ' " 

The full force of God's love and purpose are revealed, as 
the poet sings: 

" ' I believe it ! 'Tis Thou, God, that givest, 'tis I who receive, 
In the first is the last, in Thy will is my power to believe. 
From Thy will stream the worlds,' " 



206 LITEKATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

and in this comparison between the finite and the infinite 
will is implied the idea that man's ought-to-be coincides 
with God's is. 

" ' 'Tis not what man Does that exalts him, but what man Would 
do ! ' » 

With this sublime assurance that the finite is compassed by 
— but like unto — the infinite, David voices his final appeal 
to Saul to assure him that David at his best is, after all, 
merely an instrument of the infinite in restoring and sus- 
taining Saul: 

" ' Saul, it shall be 
A Face like my face that receives thee, a Man like to me 
Thou shalt love and be loved by forever! a Hand like this hand 
Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee! See the Christ 
stand ! ' " 

Thus ends the theme. The dignity of life with its re- 
sponsibilities past, present and future, finite and infinite, 
together with the sustaining power of God's love and law, 
restore and sustain life; give incentive, dignity and worth 
to that life with all of its relationships, human and divine. 

The remainder of the poem but attests that all nature, 
when rightly seen, appreciated and understood, attests the 
truth already voiced: 

" All's love, yet all's law." 



CHAPTER XI 

CONSTRASTED STUDIES (Continued) 
THE BOOK OF JOB 
Thought Analysis: 

The facts pertaining to this great Hebrew masterpiece 
group themselves about Job and his conception of life, its 
relationships, its opportunities and responsibilities. To 
estimate these facts in relation it is necessary to define some 
organizing principle about which they may shape, fashion 
and extend themselves. All the facts of this great dra- 
matic poem may group themselves about Job and his con- 
ception of life. To estimate correctly this conception the 
following determining factors may be noted : A man 's con- 
ception of the universe and of his relation to that universe 
may be estimated (1) by his word; (2) by his act; (3) by 
his attitude toward others; (4) by what others say to him; 
(5) by what others say of him; (6) by the attitude of 
others toward him; (7) by his attitude toward himself and 
God. These factors must be considered in the days of his 
prosperity and also in the days of his adversity. 

The opening scene of the poem locates the drama in place 
and defines the principal character: 

" There was a man in the land of Uz, whose name was Job ; 
and that man was perfect and upright, and one that feared God 
and eschewed evil." 

This scene presents Job in the days of his prosperity. 



208 LITEKATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

His station in life may be classified briefly: Family, seven 
sons and three daughters; wealth, seven thousand sheep, 
three thousand camels, five hundred yoke of oxen, and five 
hundred she-asses; power, the direction of a very great 
household. 

The scene is of a social gathering. After the festivities, 

" Job offered burnt offerings according to the number, * for some 
of my sons may have sinned against God.' " 

This is Job the ritualist. 

The second scene is before the throne of the Almighty. 
God addresses Satan: 

" Hast thou considered my servant Job, a perfect and an up- 
right man, one that f eareth God and escheweth evil ? " 

And Satan sets the problem of the drama as he replies : 

"Doth Job serve God for nought? Thou hast hedged him 
about; thou hast blest the work of his hands; touch all that he 
hath and he will curse thee." 

" The Lord said : All that he hath is in thy hands, but touch 
not him." 

The scene shifts back to the land of Uz. 

" And there was a day when his sons and his daughters were 
eating and drmking wine in their eldest brother's house : 

" And there came a messenger unto Job, and said : The oxen 
were plowing and the asses feeding beside them : 

" And the Sabeans fell upon them and took them away ; yea, 
they have slain the servants with the edge of the sword; and I 
only am escaped alone to tell thee. 

" While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, 
The fire of God is fallen from heaven, and hath burned up the 
sheep, and the servants and consumed them; and I only am es- 
caped alone to tell thee. 

" While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, 



CONTKASTED STUDIES 209 

The Chaldeans made out three bands, and fell upon the camels, 
and have carried them away, yea, and slain the servants with the 
edge of the sword; and I only am escaped alone to tell thee. 

" While he was yet speaking, there came also another, and said, 
Thy sons and thy daughters were eating and drinking wine in 
their eldest brother's house: 

"And, behold, there came a great wind from the wilderness, 
and smote the four corners of the house, and it fell upon the 
young men and they are dead; and I only am escaped alone to 
tell thee." 

In this scene Job is put to the test regarding his affec- 
tions, his wealth, his station in life. He rent his mantle, 
shaved his head, and fell down and worshipped, 

"And said, the Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away; 
blessed be the name of the Lord." 

In these external afflictions he rings true to the test : Job 
doth serve God for nought. 

Back to heaven the scene shifts. Again Satan came be- 
fore the Lord and the Lord said : 

"My servant Job is a perfect and upright man, and though 
thou movedst me against him to destroy him, yet he holdeth fast 
his integrity. But Satan replied: All that a man hath will he 
give for his life; touch his flesh and bone and he will curse thee." 

"And the Lord said unto Satan, Behold, he is in thine hand: 
but save his life." 

Satan smote Job with sore boils from the sole of his foot 
unto his crown and Job groveled in the ashes. His wife 
said unto him : 

"Dost thou still retain thine integrity? curse God, and die. 
"But he said unto her, What! shall we receive good at the 
hand of God and shall we not receive evil?" 

And Job sinned not. 



210 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

But in his lamentations Job exclaims : 

" Man that is born of woman is of few days and full of trou- 
ble. He Cometh like a flower and is cut down; he fleeth like a 
shadow and continueth not." 

So Job cursed the day of his birth and longed for death. 

"There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary 
be at rest." 

Into his lamentations there crept the old fatalistic idea 
of a just balancing of good with evil as voiced in his 
protest : 

" I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet, 
yet trouble came." 

This lamentation portrays his agony of soul through his 
bodily afflictions. The test of his integrity through the 
flesh was intense, pitiless, but again he rings true : Job doth 
serve God for nought. 

In the next scene, located in the same place, there is the 
test of the spirit through the admonishings, reproofs and 
warnings of his three friends and counsellors, Eliphaz the 
Temanite; Bildad the Shuhite; and Zophar the Naamath- 
ite. The counselings, admonishings, reproofs of these three 
friends may be summed up briefly: 

"Whoever perished, being innocent, or where were the right- 
eons cut off? " 

" Shall mortal man be more just than God ? Shall a man be 
more pure than his Maker?" 

"Affliction cometh not forth of the dust, neither doth trouble 
spring out of the ground." 

"Behold, happy is the man whom God correcteth; therefore 
despise not thou the chastening of the Almighty." 

"Doth God pervert judgment? or doth the Almighty pervert 
justice?" 



9 

CONTEASTED STTIDrES 211 

" Can the rush grow up without mire ? can the flag grow with- 
out water?" 

" Whilst it is yet in its greenness and not cut down, it withereth 
before any other herb." 

" So are the paths of all who forget God." 

" Behold, God will not cast away a perfect man, neither will he 
help the evil doers." 

" Should a wise man utter vain knowledge ? Should he reason 
with unprofitable talk?" 

" He shall neither have son nor nephew among his people, nor 
any remaining in his dwellings." 

" Surely such are the dwellings of the wicked, and this is the 
place of him that knoweth not God." 

" The triumph of the wicked is short, and the joy of the hypo- 
crite but for a moment." 

Thus did his friends admonish and reprove, but thus, 
also, did Job answer and justify himself : 

"How forcible are right words! but what doth your arguing 
reprove? 

" My face is foul with weeping, and on my eyelids is the shadow 
of death; 

" Not for any injustice in my hands ; also my prayer is pure." 

Then in a masterful outburst, Job voices his need for 
human sympathy and comfort in his affliction, but majes- 
tically attests his sense of his integrity and intrinsic worth. 

" Have pity upon me ! Have pity upon me ! ye my friends, 
for the hand of God hath touched me. 

"Why do ye persecute me as God, and are not satisfied with 
my flesh? 

" Oh, that my words were now written ! oh, that they were 
printed in a book ! 

" That they were graven with an iron pen and lead in the rock 
forever ! 



212 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

" For I know that my redeemer (my justifier) liveth, and that 
he shall stand in the latter day upon the earth: 

"And though after my skin, worms destroy this body, yet in 
my flesh I shall see God. 

" Hear diligently my speech, 

"Is my complaint to man? and if it were so, why should not 
my spirit be troubled: 

" Wherefore do the wicked live, become old, grow mighty in 
power? " 

" Even to-day is my complaint bitter ; my stroke is heavier 
than my groanings. 

" Oh, that I knew where I might find him ! that I might come 
even to his seat! 

" I would order my cau^se before him. 

" There the righteous might dispute with him. 

" He knoweth the way that I take : when he hath tried me, I 
shall come forth as gold." 

But in his sublime justification of himself, Job acknowl- 
edges the infinite v^^ays of the Almighty, and intimates that 
the finite cannot comprehend the Infinite: 

" Hell is naked before him, and destruction hath no covering. 

" He stretcheth out the North over the empty place, and hangeth 
the earth upon nothing. 

" He bindeth up the waters in his thick clouds, and the cloud is 
not rent under him. 

" He holdeth back the face of his throne, and spreadeth his 
cloud upon it. 

" He hath compassed the water with bounds, until the day and 
the night come to an end. 

" The pillars of heaven tremble, and are astonished at his re- 
proof. 

" He divided the sea with his power, and by his understanding 
he smiteth through the proud. 

" By his spirit he hath garnished the heavens : his hand hath 
formed the crooked serpent. 



CONTRASTED STUDIES 213 

" Lo, these are parts of his ways : but how little a portion is 
heard of him! but the thunder of his power who can understand? 

" The fear of the Lord is wisdom, and to depart from evil is 
understanding." 

The agony of spirit is intensified by Job's contrast be- 
tween his previous and his present condition. He inten- 
sifies, too, his trials and vexations of spirit at the hands of 
others, but through it all affirms and maintains his in- 
tegrity : 

" Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days when God 
preserved me: 

" When I went out to the gate through the city, when I pre- 
pared my seat in the street ! 

" The young men saw me and hid themselves ! and the aged 
arose and stood up. 

" The princes refrained talking, and laid their hand on their 
mouth. 

" The nobles held their peace and their tongues cleaved to the 
roof of their mouth. 

" "When the ear heard me, then it blessed me, and when the eye 
saw me, it gave witness to me. 

" Because I delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, 
and him that had none to help him. 

" The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon me 
and I caused the widow's heart to leap for joy. 

"I put on righteousness, and it clothed me, my judgment was 
as a rose and a diadem. 

" I was eyes to the blind, and feet was I to the lame. 

" I was a father to the poor : and the cause which I knew not I 
searched out. 

" And I brake the jaws of the wicked and plucked the spoil out 
of his teeth." 

This is Job 's testimony of his own inherent worth in an- 
swer to the insinuations of his friends that he knew he 
must have practised hypocrisy and deception in secret. 



214 LITEEATURE IN" THE SCHOOL 

In his vivid description of the change which has come 
over him, he intensifies his affliction of spirit: 

"But now they that are younger than I have me in derision, 
whose fathers I would have disdained to have set with the dogs 
of my flock. 

" And now am I their song, yea, I am their by-word. 

" They abhor me, they flee from me, and spare not to spit in 
my face. 

(c Terrors are turned upon me : they pursue my soul as the 
wind : and my welfare passeth away as a cloud. 

" And now my soul is poured out upon me ; the days of my af- 
fliction have taken hold upon me. 

" When I looked for good, the evil came unto me ; and when I 
waited for light, there came darkness. 

" My harp also is turned to mourning, and my organ into the 
voice of them that weep." 

In protest against the insinuation that his affliction is 
due punishment for his evil doing, Job says: 

" If I have withheld the poor from their desire, or have caused 
the eyes of the widow to fail; 

" Or have eaten my morsel myself alone, and the fatherless 
have not eaten thereof; 

" If I have seen any perish for want of clothing, or any poor 
without covering; 

" If his loins have not blessed me, and if he were not warmed 
with the fleece of my sheep; 

" If I have lifted up my hand against the fatherless, when I saw 
my help in the gate; 

" Then let mine arm fall from my shoulder blade, and mine arm 
be broken from the bone." * 

" If I have made gold my hope, or have said to the fine gold. 
Thou art my confidence: 

" If I rejoiced because my wealth was great, and because mine 
hand had gotten much; 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 215 

" This were an iniquity to be punished by the judge, for I 
should have denied the God that is above. 

" If I have eaten the fruits without money, or have caused the 
owners thereof to lose their life, — 

" Let thistles grow instead of wheat." 

With this pathetic but manful defence his three friends 
were silenced. But Job's trials were not yet ended. 

" Then was kindled the wrath of Elihu the son of Barachel the 
Buzite: against Job was his wrath kindled because he justified 
himself rather than God. 

" Also against the three friends was his wrath kindled because 
they had formed no answer and yet had condemned Job. 

"And Elihu son of Barachel the Buzite said, I am young, and 
ye are very old. 

"Days should speak, and multitude of years should teach 
wisdom. 

"Great men are not always wise; neither do the aged under- 
stand judgment." 

Then addressing himself directly to Job he says : 

" Behold, I waited for your words, I gave ear to your reasons. 

"I will open my lips and answer. My words shall be of the 
uprightness of my heart. 

" I have heard the voice of thy words saying 

"I am clean without transgression, I am innocent, neither is 
there iniquity in me; 

"Behold, he findeth occasions against me, he counteth me for 
his enemy. 

"Behold, in this thou art not just. I will answer thee that 
God is greater than man. 

" He looketh upon man, and if any say, I have sinned, and per- 
verted that which was right, and it profited me not, 

" He will deliver his soul, and his life shall see the light. 

"Let us choose to us judgments, let us know among ourselves 
what is good. 



216 LITEEATUKE IN THE SCHOOL 

" What man is like Job, who drinketh up scorning like waters. 

" Which goeth in company with the workers of iniquity, and 
walketh with wicked men. 

" But, his eyes are upon the ways of men, and he seeth all his 
goings. 

" There is no darkness nor shadow of death where workers of 
iniquity may hide themselves. 

" He preserveth not the life of the wicked : but giveth right to 
the poor. 

" He openeth the ear to discipline, and commandeth that they 
return from iniquity. 

" But if they obey not, they shall die without knowledge. 

" But the hypocrites in heart heap up wrath. They cry not 
when he bindeth them." 

Then this prophet of righteous indignation directs Job's 
attention to the illimitable wisdom and power of God : 

" God thundereth marvelously with his voice ; great things 
doeth he which we cannot comprehend. 

" He saith to the snow, Be thou on the earth, likewise the rain. 

" He sealeth up the hand of every man, that all men may know 
his power. 

" Out of the south cometh the whirlwind, and cold out of the 
north. 

" Hearken unto this, Job, stand still and consider the won- 
drous works of God. 

" Dost thou know when God disposed them, and caused the light 
of his cloud to shine? 

" Hast thou with him spread out the sky, which is strong, and 
as a molten looking-glass? 

"Fair weather cometh out of the north: with God is terrible 
majesty. 

" Touching the Almighty, we cannot find him out ; he is excel- 
lent in power, and in judgment, and in plenty of justice : he will 
not afflict." 

This poetic outburst prepares for the climax of the 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 217 

drama, the magnificent scene in which the voice of God 
speaks to Job in the whirlwind, saying : 

" Who is this that drinketh up counsel by words without . 
knowledge? 

" Gird up now thy loins like a man, for I will demand of thee, 
and answer thou me. 

"Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? 
declare, if thou hast imderstanding. 

" Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest ? or who 
hath stretched the line upon it? 

" Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened ? or who laid 
the cornerstone thereof, 

" When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of 
God shouted for joy? " 

" Hast thou commanded the morning since thy days ; and 
caused the dayspring to know his place; 

" That it might take hold of the ends of the earth, that the 
wicked might be shaken out of it? 

" Hast thou entered into the springs of the seas ? or hast thou 
walked in the search of the deep? 

" Hath the gates of death been opened unto thee? or hast thou 
seen the doors of the shadow of death? 

" Canst thou bind the sweet influences of Pleiades, or loose the 
bands of Orion? 

" Canst thou bring forth Mazzaroth in his season? or canst thou 
bind Arcturus with his sons? 

" Who hath put wisdom in the inward parts? or who hath given 
understanding to the heart?! 

" Doth the hawk fly by thy wisdom, and stretch her wings to- 
ward the south? 

" Doth the eagle mount up at thy command, and make her nest 
on high? 

" Shall he that eontendeth with the Almighty mistrust him? he 
that reproveth God, let him answer it." 

This vastness of idea brings to Job a new sense of the 



218 LITEEATURE IN" THE SCHOOL 

power and majesty of the Infinite. So lie answers him and 

says: 

" Behold, I am vile ; wliat shall I answer thee ? I will lay mine 
hand upon my mouth. 

" Once have I spoken, but I will not answer : yea, twice, but I 
will proceed no further." 

Again the Lord spoke to Job: 

" Gird up thy loins now like a man : I will demand of thee, and 
declare thou unto me. 

"Wilt thou also disannul my judgment? Wilt thou condemn 
me, that thou mayest be righteous? 

" Deck thyself now with majesty and excellency; and array 
thyself with glory and beauty. 

" Cast abroad the rage of thy wrath : and behold every one that 
is proud, and abase him. 

" Look on every one that is proud and bring him low ; and tread 
down the wicked in their place. 

" Hide them in the dust together ; and bind their faces in secret. 

" Then will I also confess unto thee that thine own right hand 
can save thee." 

Job acknowledges the inscrutable ways of the Almighty 
as he says: 

"I know that thou canst do everything, and that no thought 
can be withheld from thee. 

" Hear, I beseech thee, and I will speak : I will demand of thee, 
and declare thou unto me. 

" I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear (physical) : 
but now mine eye (spiritual) , seeth thee. 

" Wherefore I abhor myself, and repent in dust and ashes (of 
spirit). 

Thus ended the trials of Job. 

Did Job meet this test of the spirit satisfactorily? Did 
he preserve his integrity? 



CONTRASTED STUDIES 219 

" The Lord spoke to Eliphaz saying : My wrath is kindled 
against thee and thy two friends, for ye have not spoken of me 
the things that are true nor right, as my servant Job hath." 

This is the testimony of word. Witness the testimony 
of act : 

"And the Lord restored unto Job his family, seven sons and 
three daughters, and gave him of wealth, twice as much as he had 
before." 

Thus Job, ringing true to the supremest test to which 
man can be submitted, proves that he doth serve God for 
nought. 

This, in brief, is the great drama of Job. The conclu- 
sions which may be drawn will be reserved for the succeed- 
ing chapter. 



CHAPTER XII 
CONTRASTED STUDIES (Concluded) 
Robert of Sicily : 

In each, of the poems studied in the previous chapters 
the same problem is presented for solution, the problem of 
a worthy manhood, of individual worth and individual re- 
sponsibility. In each poem, however, the problem has an 
individual setting, and, consequently, moves in a different 
manner from the defining of the problem to its final solu- 
tion. In the first poem, "King Eobert of Sicily," is set 
the problem of attaining unto the full stature of worthy 
manhood. In the second poem, ' ' Saul, ' ' is set the problem 
of regaining a worthy and purposeful manhood. In the 
third poem, ''Job," is set the problem of preserving a 
noble manhood. In the three poems is set the problem of 
life and of life's responsibilities. 

In the poem ''King Eobert of Sicily" the central char- 
acter named by the poem is devoid of any dynamic sense 
of personal responsibility and of any necessity for inherent 
worth. By virtue of the prerogatives of birth, he has at- 
tained wealth and place and power, and by virtue of these 
same prerogatives he lives imanswerable to any power, in- 
fluence or responsibility. For him life sums itself up in 
wealth, power and position. Aside from these life has no 
opportunities nor demands that would give to it dignity 
and worth. Within the scope of these prerogatives of birth 
there are no limitations determining action, no power fix- 



CONTEASTED STUDIES 221 

ing individual responsibility, no influence questioning the 
right to leadership. The lesson which this king is forced 
to learn, is the lesson of humility, of self -limitation, of indi- 
vidual responsibility which always goes hand in hand with 
individual opportunities. 

This lesson he needs must learn through sorrow and pain, 
through struggle of soul and anguish of spirit, until there 
is born a consciousness of dignity and worth in life which 
inheres in the individual regardless of position, place or 
power. 

The movement of this poem as it concerns the character 
about whom the facts group themselves is toward self -reve- 
lation and self-realization. Conditions are made as easy 
as possible for the teaching of this necessary and whole- 
some lesson. The uplift of the church, the embodiment of 
the higher spiritual forces, makes its appeal, but to the self- 
sufficient and arrogant king it has neither message nor sig- 
nificance. Slowly but surely move the forces to bring home 
the painful but salutary lesson of life. First, wealth and 
position are withdrawn and he is placed among the lowest 
of the lowly. But so long as there remain any external 
ties binding him to the past. King Robert fails to learn 
that, in the last analysis, individual responsibilities are 
accorded because of individual dignity and worth. 

When the ties of birth are denied him, the soul is thrown 
in upon itself, and then through struggle and pain, and 
through sorrow and anguish, does King Eobert come to a 
full consciousness of the prime essentials of manhood, of 
the inherent dignity and worth of each individual life. In 
this new consciousness he finds his finite limitations, he 
finds the interrelations of the opportunities and responsi- 
bilities of each individual life. Thus manhood is enthroned 
and the King, by virtue of the prerogatives of birth, be- 
comes King by virtue of his kingliness of character. This 



222 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

is the problem of manhood enthroned through the will and 
the deed of its possessor. 

Satil: 

In the poem ''Saul" is found the problem of regaining 
a sense of individual responsibility and of personal worth. 
Saul has permitted his baser nature to possess him. The 
angels of his better nature must regain possession, must 
re-enthrone his manhood. 

The poem opens with a scene in which Saul has fallen 
from the high estate of purposeful manhood. Surfeited 
with wealth and place and power, and with no inducement 
for further effort on his part, since nothing remained to 
be attained in a worldly sense, "The Great First King" 
subtracted himself from the activities and relationships of 
life to live passively in a hopeless memory of the past. 

David with harp of gold and soul of fire became the great 
spiritual force which awakened Saul to new light and new 
life 

" till lie slowly resumed 
His old motions and habitudes kingly." 

In his masterful song of life, David threw Saul back 
upon himself, discovered him to himself ; bore in upon his 
mind and spirit the lesson of life and life relationships, its 
possibilities, here and hereafter. 

From family to community, from community to nation, 
from nation to world-wide influence, from past and pres- 
ent to infinite future, swell the chords of this majestic song 
bearing its theme in grand refrain, that individual oppor- 
tunity and possibility are synonymous with individual re- 
sponsibility; that the one cannot be denied nor the other 
avoided. "With majestic power David iterates and reiter- 
ates that it is this union of individual possibility and indi- 



CONTKASTED STUDIES 223 

vidual responsibility whieli exalts human life and gives 
to the soul its dignity and worth. 

In his sublime song to Saul, David runs the gamut of 
individual life and to each soul reveals its mission and its 
worth. In the recognition of personal responsibility, in the 
realization of the unending influence of the individual act, 
in the regaining of self-mastery and self-respect, in the 
acceptance of life with all of its opportunities, possibili- 
ties, responsibilities, are recorded Saul's story of manhood 
regained. After a period of evil choosing, the soul has 
risen to a former state of dignity and worth, and all that 
gave it the true worth and grandeur of being has been re- 
enthroned. 

This poem differs from "Robert of Sicily" in that it is 
the problem of regaining a soul-estate through the birth of 
a new consciousness of individual dignity and worth, of 
individual responsibility. 

Job: 

In "Job" is the problem of manhood maintained in full 
dignity and integrity. Job feels his finite limitations in a 
universe swayed by a Power which he can neither resist 
nor comprehend. The rules which govern man in relation 
to his fellow-man he finds inapplicable here : — ' ' How shall 
a man be just with God? He destroyeth the perfect and 
the wicked. ' ' He feels, too, that his affliction is not due to 
any wrong on his part, as in the case of earthly punish- 
ment, so he exclaims: "Wherefore do the wicked live, be- 
come old, grow mighty in power?" As he recognizes no 
earthly law in the forces which control him, Job voices his 
eternal protest against his affliction. 

In the lamentations of Job and the counsel of his friends, 
the problems of pain and struggle are duly emphasized. 



224 LITERATURE IN THE SCHOOL 

"Behold, happy is the man whom God eorreeteth; for he 
maketh sore and bindeth up ; he woundeth and his hands 
make whole." In the admonishings of his friends there is 
voiced too the old conception that misery and holiness go 
hand in hand, a conception which finds expression in mod- 
ern life in the philosophy of those who do not differentiate 
drudgery from labor. Their creed seems to be : Be miser- 
able now. Wealth and fame, glory unspeakable, power and 
dignity of office, are just around the comer. But despite 
taunt and doubt. Job finally realized that through struggle 
and pain, through strain and stress, through the torn tis- 
sues of the emotions and the affections, the spirit of man 
rises to a higher conception of the problem of life and its 
meaning. The justification of the problems of life is thus 
voiced by Job : 

" I have heard of thee by the hearing of the ear, but now mine 
eye seeth thee, wherefore I abhor myself and repent in dust and 
ashes." 

In Job himself there is embodied the conception of a 
mighty individual who in calm and in tempest holds true 
to his own integrity and inherent sense of worth. In pros- 
perity and in adversity he justifies not only God's ways to- 
ward man, but also man's ways toward himself. Sublime 
in his self-assurance. Job cries out: 

" Though he slay me yet will I trust him, but I will maintain 
my ways before him." 

Firm in the belief of the righteousness of his cause, he 
exclaims : 

" I know that my justifier liveth." 

Though Job is supremely confident of his own integritj'' 
and worth, he is not nobly patient in the midst of his af- 



CONTRASTED STUDIES 225 

flietions, rather is he divinely impatient for an opportunity 
to plead his own cause, to justify his own acts. In Job 
there is a great individual holding true to himself in all 
the storm and stress of life and to the faith that asks not 
reward and recognition, an individual who asserts ajid 
maintains the sacredness of his individuality. In Job is 
found the inherent loyalty of man to an idea — the loyalty 
that led Socrates to prefer freedom and the hemlock to life 
and limitation, the loyalty that nailed the lowly Man of 
Nazareth to the cross. In him is the precursor of the great 
spirits that extended the horizon of the world's downmost 
as they thwarted and defied the purple and the sceptre. In 
him there is a supreme individual, who, towering to the 
awful verge of manhood, is his own justification for being. 
In Job there is a philosophic answer to his own unan- 
swered question, "If a man die shall he live again?" 
"Whether yes or no, the answer is, man has to live but one 
life at a time. Foreshadowed here is the genesis of the idea 
that position and power and external wealth may be the 
results of accident or caprice, but individual worth is pur- 
posed, and manhood enthroned can only be dethroned by 
the will of man himself; that man must be measured by 
his largeness of spirit, not by the external show of things ; 
that right living pays dividends here and now; that right 
action is its own justification; that neither by threat nor 
bribe are the ways of life thwarted or changed, but through 
the stress and strain of struggle-hours spiritual adjust- 
ment is made. In Job, too, is intimated the sublime idea 
that the divinity in man, hoping not for reward nor seek- 
ing it, leaps in majestic response to the call of the Divine. 



CHAPTER Xni 
SUPPLEMENT A 

Teaching is making conditions whereby the ** law 
in the mind " may be applied to the " fact in the 
thing. ' ' In the analysis of a poem the teacher must 
direct the thought of the readers to the ideas, which 
related, make up the essential theme or purpose of 
the poem. Through pictures and descriptions the 
setting of the poem or selection to be studied may 
be made known and some incidents revealed. The 
real value of the study of any poem or selection by 
maturing children is not the knowledge which they 
may obtain and which may be furnished them by a 
parrot-like memorizing of what others have thought 
and said about the poet or the poem or of the cir- 
cumstances in which and out of which it was writ- 
ten. The value lies in the quality of the thought 
analysis made by the children. The quality of this 
thought analysis measures in an effective way the 
efficiency of the teaching. 

Human ingenuity has devised no substitute for 
the Socratic thought-provoking question. The idea 
which the form demands determines the question 
and also its logical order. It should be a question 
which focuses the mind on an idea embodied in the 
form but which doesn't embody an answer without 



SUPPLEMENT A 227 

effort. Questions should be related and should 
move toward the theme or purpose. Perhaps noth- 
ing betrays the unskilful teacher so effectively as 
the scrappy, haphazard, disjointed questions which 
she asks, her proneness to follow tangents, side- 
issues and inconsequential details, and her fond- 
ness for giving information about the author or the 
selection which she has heard or read, instead of 
directing the mind to the thought of the selection 
studied and then resting firm in her assurance that 
thoughts which are of value will come to the mind 
through its own effort and activity. She should be- 
lieve, too, that in a work of art meaning is not 
subtle nor obscure, but the form and content are in 
artistic and harmonious relation the one to the 
other. She should also believe that a selection well 
adapted to the experience and power of the class 
may well be analyzed and studied through the 
directed efforts of the class. If questions are 
thoughtful and thought-provoking, the answers in 
logical order of development will make reason- 
able discourse. 

The following study of '' Pheidippides " is an 
attempt to hint at the questions which may direct 
the thought of the mind to a study of the text. 

Suggested Questions on the Study of Pheidippides: 

Who speaks at the opening of the poem and for what 
purpose ? 

What is the significance of saluting gods, daemons and 
heroes ? 



228 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

" Then I name thee " refers to whom and for what pur- 
pose? 

"With whom is Pan compared? What was the dignity of 
those gods in the Greece of that period? 

What is the purpose of the curiosity or interest aroused 
by thus exalting Pan? 

To what does ' ' First ' ' refer in the first line of the poem ? 
Why used? What the effect? 

What is the significance of 

" Arehons of Athens, topped by the tettix, see, I return ! 
See, 'tis myself here standing alive, no spectre that speaks ! " 

What does the poet, through Pheidippides, do for the 
reader in the remainder of the second stanza? 

What curiosity or interest is thus aroused in the mind of 
the reader? 

What is suggested by "into their midst I broke?" 

What is the significance of "breath served but for'* etc.? 

What must have provoked the exclamation : 

"Die, with the wide world spitting at Sparta, the stupid, the 
stander-by? " 

This thrust appealed to what in the Spartans? 

In terms of the errand, what is its significance? 

In what other manner is the hesitancy and jealousy of 
Sparta suggested? 

For what does this information regarding the Spartans 
prepare the Athenians? (Justify your answer from the 
language of the text.) 

"Has Persia come, — does Athens ask aid, — may Sparta be- 
friend?" 

suggests what of the attitude of the Spartans ? 

The remainder of that stanza may be classified how? 



SUPPLEMENT A 229 

What effect had the attitude of the Spartans upon Phei- 
dippides ? How was that effect shown ? 

To what did Pheidippides attribute the attitude of the 
Spartans ? 

Why did he chide the gods? What is the significance 
of his so doing ? Was it a personal despair that he voiced ? 
(Justify your answer.) 

What is the significance of 

" Fear in thee no fraud from the blind, no lie from the mute ! " ? 

What is the artistic effect of the chaotic character of the 
country traversed hinted at by the author and the chaotic 
state of the young man's mind? 

What the artistic effect of introducing Pan at this point 
in the poem? 

What was the attitude of Athens toward Pan? What 
the attitude of Pan toward Athens? What is the signifi- 
cance of the relationship in the light of the charges pre- 
ferred against favored gods by Pheidippides? 

What tangible proof had Pheidippides of his meeting 
with Pan? 

What is revealed of Athenian character when his state- 
ments and proof were received without question or chal- 
lenge ? 

(This ends the first movement of the poem and satisfies 
the curiosity aroused by the eulogy to Pan at the opening 
of the poem. Two other interests, however, have been de- 
veloped. One interest lies in the doubt as to Pan's ability 
to realize his promise. The other concerns the personal 
reward promised Pheidippides the nature of which is 
merely surmised by him. The introduction of Miltiades 
prepares the mind for the battle of Marathon where the 
worth of Pan is to be tested and proven.) 



230 LITERATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

What tribute is paid Pheidippides by Miltiades? "What 
is the significance of this tribute? 

"What reply does Pheidippides make? 

How does Pheidippides interpret this promise of Pan? 

What is forecasted in " Unf oreseeing one?" 

What was the outcome of the battle ? 

What was its significance in relation to Pan and his 
promise ? 

What was the reward of Pheidippides meted out by the 
Athenians? by Pan? 

What was the significance of Pan 's reward ? 

Compare and contrast this reward with the one antici- 
pated by Pheidippides? 

What is the dominant trait in the character of Pheidip- 
pides as revealed by the poem ? 

What is the significance of this portrayal of fidelity to 
duty? 

What is the quality of fidelity to duty that ends in death? 

What is the significance of the poem? 

Compare and contrast its central idea with the central 
ideas of " Nathan Hale " and " Kegulus." 



SUPPLEMENT B 
Aims in Reading: 

(a) To train in methods of study. 

(b) To develop logical, organic thirking. 

(c) To lead to an appreciation of literary values. 

(d) To make conscious of worthy ideals as fundamen- 
tal life influences. 

(e) To express thought, feeling and emotion worthily 
when couched in artistic form. 



SUPPLEMENT 231 

Suggested movement in study: 

(The Great Stone Face.) 

(a) The problem set. 

(b) The influence of the ideal — (The Great Stone Face) 
— in general. 

(c) The influence of the ideal in particular (i. e., on 
Ernest). 

(d) Tests of fidelity to great ideal: 

(1) Test of Boyhood — (Wealth as the ideal). 

(2) Test of Youth— (Military Fame as the ideal). 

(3) Test of Middle-age — (Oratory and States- 
manship as the ideal). 

(4) Test of Old-age— (The Poetic and Prophetic 
vision as the ideal). 

(e) The revealment. 

(f ) The life influence of a great ideal. 

(g) Is the ideal attainable? 

(h) Is the idealist necessarily impractical ? 



SUPPLEMENT C 
Helpful Books for Teachers: 

Aenold, Sarah Louise, Mow to Teach Beading. 

Bakee, Geoege p., Development of Shakspere as a 
Dramatist. 

Beyant, Saea C, How to Tell Stories. 

Claek, S. H., How to Teach Beading in the Public 
Schools. 

CoESON, HiEAM, The Aims of Literary Study. 

Cox, J. Haeeington, Literature in the Common Schools. 



232 LITEEATUEE IN THE SCHOOL 

GrARDiNER, JoHN H., The Bible as English Literature. 

Hall, Jennie, Men of Old Greece. 

HuEY, Edmund B., Psychology and Pedagogy of Bead- 
ing. 

McClintock, Porter L., Literature in the Elementary 
School. 

MouLTON, Richard G., Shakspere as a Dramatic Artist. 

Moulton, Shakspere as a Dramatic Thinker. 

Pyle, Howard, Adventures of Merry BoMn Hood. 

Shairp, John C, Aspects of Poetry. 

Stedman, E. C, Nature of Poetry. 

Stockton, Frank R., Fanciful Tales. 

Trent, William P., Greatness in Literature. 

"WooDBERRY, George Edward, Appreciation of Litera- 
ture. 

WooDBERRY, The Torch. 



INDEX 



Abner, 180, 193. 

Achilles, 32. 

Age of Chivalry, 34. 

Alcestis, self-sacrifice of, 24, 27. 

American public school. The, 
11, 12, 19; aim of, 14, 15; an- 
nual expenditures on, 52; con- 
trolling ideas of, 89. 

Angelo, Michael, 25. 

Antigone, devotion of, 24, 27. 

Apollo, legend of, 31. 

Arnold, Matthew, quoted, 22. 

Arnold, Sarah Louise, 231. 

Athens, 150, 151, 152, 153, 154, 
155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 161. 

Baker, George P., 231. 

Bible, The, see Scriptures. 

BiLDAD, the Shuhite, 210. 

Biography, teaching of, 33. 

Black, Prof. W. W., 60. 

Bremen-Town Musicians, The 
(adapted from Grimm), quoted, 
77-80; development of the 
story, 80, 81. 

Browning, Robert, quoted, 34, 
150-155, 180-192. 

Bryant, Sara C, 231. 

Building of the Ship, The (Longfel- 
low), quoted from, 60, 61. 

Burbank, Luther, 53. 

Cape Cod, 61. 

Carlyle, Thomas, quoted, 22. 

Carthage, 144, 145, 146, 148, 149. 

Challenge of Thor, The (Longfel- 
low), quoted, 98; suggested ques- 
tions, 99; thought analysis, 99. 

Childhood, defined, 15. 

Cinderella, story of, 30. 

Clark, Prof., quoted, 21. 

Clark, S. H., 231. 

Columbus, 25. 

Concept, The, defined, 94. 



Contrasted studies, 163-225; 
Book of Job, 207, 223; Saul, 180, 
222; The Sicilian's Tale, 163, 
220. 

Correlation, a travesty on, 61. 

Corson, Hiram, 231. 

Cox, J. Harrington, 231. 

Daffodils, The (Wordsworth), 

quoted, 109. 
Dale, Thomas, quoted, 143-145. 
Darwin, Charles, 25. 
David, 181, 193, 194, 195, 196, 

197, 199, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 

206, 222, 223. 
Day is Done, The (Longfellow), 

quoted, 107, 108. 
Dickens, Charles, quoted, 58. 
Dramatization, 59-63. 
Dunbar, P. L., quoted, 106. 

Each and All (Emerson), quoted 

from, 105. 
Edison, 25. 

Education, defined, 48. 
Elaine, 30. 

Eliphaz, the Temanite, 210, 219. 
Emerson, R. W., quoted, 22, 105. 
Emperor Valmond, 163, 164, 167, 

168, 169, 172, 174, 175. 
Evangeline (Longfellow), 58. 
Expression, modes of, 57, 58, 60; 

oral, see Reading. 

Fairy tales, 29, 30, 67; function 
of, 31, 32. 

Finch, Francis M. (quoted), 135- 
137. 

Flower in the Crannied Wall (Ten- 
nyson), 34. 

Form and content, relation be- 
tween, 41, 42, 43, 44, 46, 49, 55, 
56, 57, 76, 89, 92, 100, 227« 



234 



INDEX 



Galileo, 25. 

Gakdiner, John H., 232. 

Gethsemanb, Garden of, 26, 140. 

Great Stone Face, The (Haw- 
thorne), quoted, 110-125; sug- 
gested movement in study, 231; 
thought analysis, 125-134. 

Grimm, adaptations from, quoted, 
73-76, 77-80. 

Guinevere, 30. 

Hall, Jennie, 232. 
Hamlet (Shakspere), 59. 
Harper, Dr., quoted, 39. 
Hawthorne, Nathaniel, quoted, 

110-125. 
Helpful books for teachers, 

231. 
Hercules, 32. 
Hero tales, teaching of, 32, 33, 67, 

68. 
Hiawatha (Longfellow), quoted 

from, 56. 
History, defined, 33; study of 

heroes of, 33. 
Holy Land, The, 36. 
HuEY, Edmund B., 232. 

Ideals, and the school, 52, 53, 54; 
in childhood, 15; in Nathar Hale, 
137, 140; in The Great Stone 
Face, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 
131, 132, 133, 134, 231; in The 
Sicilian's Tale, 173, 174, 176, 
177, 179; realized through edu- 
cation, 16; taught by literature, 
21, 30, 32, 33, 34, 48, 54, 67. 

Idylls of the King (Tennyson), 34. 

Imagination, expressed by dram- 
atization, 59, 60; function of, 
25, 26; in literature, 24, 57; in 
psychology, 92; in reading, 40, 
45, 47; in the study of Nathan 
Hale, 137, 139; in the study of 
Regulus, 146, 147; in the study 
of Saul, 194, 195, 201; of the 
schoolboy, 90; strengthened by 
story-telling, 63, 66, 67. 

Imitation, a starting-place, 45, 90. 

In School Days (Whittier), 58. 

Irving, Sir Henry, 59. 



Jason and the Golden Fleece, leg- 
end of, 31, 32. 

Jesse, the Bethlehemite, 193. 

Jingles, use of, 30, 63, 66. 

Job, Book of, mentioned, 179, 220; 
problem discussed, 223-225; 
thought analysis, 207-219. 

Jones, quoted, 46. 

Judgment, 90; defined, 94; in- 
cited in reading, 45, 48. 

King Robert op Sicily, see 
Robert of Sicily. 

Lead Kindly Light (Newman), 
quoted, 36. 

Legends, 29, 30, 67, 68; function 
of, 31, 32. 

Leigh, Aurora, quoted, 59. 

Literature, appreciation of, 35; 
and the reading problem, 37-50, 
69, 70; defined, 21, 22, 23, 24, 
27; function of, 15, 26-28, 54, 
55; in the elementary school, 
16, 19, 30, 34, 63; its scope and 
purpose, 20-28; method of 
teaching, 91; methods in, 51- 
70; movement in, 30-36; proc- 
ess in study of, 40; purpose of 
studying, 30, 62; selection of, 
34; types defined, 30-36. 

Little Red Hen, A (adapted from 
Mrs. Whitney), quoted, 81-83; 
development of story, 83. 

LoKi, 31. 

Long Island, 137. 

Longfellow, H. W., quoted, 56, 
60, 61, 98, 99, 107, 108, 163-169. 

Lowell, J. R., quoted, 58. 

Man op Nazareth, 26, 32, 225. 

Mansfield, Richard, 59. 

Marathon, Battle of, 154, 155, 
229. 

Marconi, 25. 

McClintock, Porter L., 232. 

McSpadden, T. Walker, adapta- 
tion from, quoted, 83-88. 

Mediterranean, The, 36. 

Memorizing, 57, 100, 107, 226; 
words memorized, 70. 



INDEX 



235 



Memory, 90, 91, 92; defined, 94; 
gems, 63. 

Methods in Literature, see Lit- 
erature. 

MiLTiADES, 153, 160, 229, 230. 

MouLTON, Richard, G., 232. 

Myths, 29, 30, 67, 68; defined, 31. 

Nathan Hale (Finch), quoted, 135- 

137; discussed, 150, 162, 230; 

thought analysis, 137-142. 
Nauhaiight, the Deacon (Whittier), 

quoted from, 61. 
New England, 61. 
Newman, Cardinal, 35, 36; quoted, 

36. 
NioBE, story of, 31. 
Norton, C. E., quoted, 22, 
Nursery Rhymes, use of, 30, 63. 

Odin, 31. 

Old World, ideals of, 11, 14; 

system, 12. 
Oliver, 32. 

Oral Reading, see Reading. 
Orient, The, 36. 

Pan, 150, 153, 154, 155, 159, 160, 
161. 

Paracelsus (Browning), quoted 
from, 34. 

Paris, 32. 

Parker, Col., quoted, 31. 

Perception, 90, 92; defined, 94, 

Perry, quoted, 28. 

Peter, 33. 

Pheidippides (Browning), qvx)ted, 
150-155; suggested questions 
on the study of, 227-230; 
thought analysis, 155-162. 

Pope Urbane, 163, 164, 167, 168, 
169, 172, 174, 176. 

President, A great, virile, 14, 

Promethean faith, 27. 

Prometheus, agony of, 24. 

Psychology, and the reading prob- 
lem, 89-109; defined, 92; of 
mind movement, 94; of the 
teacher, 93; suggested studies, 
95-109. 

Pyle, Howard, 232. 



Reading, aims in, 230; art of 
teaching, 56; defined, 37, 38, 39, 
40; fourfold purpose in teaching 
of, 48, 49; perversion of func- 
tion of, 41, 42; teaching of oral, 
44, 45, 46, 47; test of oral ex- 
pression in, 57. 

Reading problem. The, 37, 38; 
defined, 39; literature and, 37- 
50, 69, 70; phases of, 43. 

Reason, 90; defined, 94; incited 
in reading, 45, 48. 

Regulus (Dale), quoted, 143-145; 
mentioned, 142, 162, 230; 
thought analysis, 145-150. 

Robert of Sicily, quoted, see The 
Sicilian's Tale; problem dis- 
cussed, 220-222, 223. 

Robin Hood and Little John (adap- 
ted from McSpadden's "Robin 
Hood"), qv/)ted, 83-88. 

Rome, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 148, 
150. 

Rostand, Edmond, quoted, 62. 

Russian Legend, A, quoted, 71-73. 



Samuel, First Book of (xvi: 14- 
20), quoted, 193. 

Sandpiper, The (Thaxter), quoted, 
95; suggested questions on text, 
97; thought analysis, 96. 

Saul, soul-struggle of, 27; Scrip- 
ture story of, quoted, 193. 

Saul (Browning), quoted, 180-192; 
mentioned, 179, 220; problem 
discussed, 222, 223; thought 
analysis, 193-206. 

Savonarola, 26. 

School, The, aim and purpose of, 
14, 15, 51, 52, 53; defined, 17, 
33, 93; does not give necessary 
experiences, 89; of the future, 
19. See also American public 
school. 

Scriptures, The, 34; quoted, 26, 65, 
140, 193, 207, 208, 209, 210, 211, 
212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 
219. 

Sensations, defined, 93; men- 
tioned, 92, 94. 



236 



INDEX 



Sentence-pabagraph, fallacy of 
the, 69, 70. 

Shairp, John C, 232. 

Shakspbrb, 35, 59. 

Shelley, P. B., quoted, 28. 

Sicilian's Tale, The (Longfellow), 
quoted, 163-169; thought anal- 
ysis, 169-179. See Robert of 
Sicily. 

SiciLT, 163, 164, 166, 168, 169, 
170, 172, 176, 178. 

Siegfried, 24, 31. 

Sleeping Beauty (adapted from 
Grimm), quoted, 73-76. 

Socrates, 26, 225. 

SOCRATIC QUESTION, ThE, 226. 

Solitary Reaper, The (Words- 
worth) , gwoted, 101; quoted from, 
64; suggested questions, 106, 
107; thought analysis, 102-106. 

Sparta, 150, 151, 156, 157, 158. 

Specialization, deferring of, 17, 
19. 

Spiritual environment, 29-36. 

Stedman, E. C, 232. 

Stockton, Frank R., 232. 

Stories, basis for selection, 67-69; 
of heroic deeds, 29; to be read 
by children, 76; type, see Type 
storie 8. 

Story, The, reproduction of, 66; 
use of, in moral training, 65. 

Story-telling, 63-65; form of, 
71; manner of, 65, 66. 

Supplement, A, 226; B, 230; C, 
231. 



Teacher, The, 18; as a story- 
teller, 65, 66, 67, 71; duty of, in 
oral reading, 44, 45, 46, 48, 49, 
50; inspiration of the work of, 
51; psychology of, 93; shapes 
the future, 52, 53, 54; the true 
psychologist, 92; the unskilful, 
227. 

Teachers, number and impor- 
tance, 51, 52. 

Teaching, art of, defined, 47; as a 
profession, 93; defined, 48, 91, 
92, 226; essence of, 51. 



10. 



Technical training, dangers of, 
13, 16, 18. 

Tennyson, Alfred, 34, 35. 

Thor, 31; The Challenge of Thar 
(Longfellow), quoted, 98-99. 

Thought analysis, defined, 100, 
102; of Nathan Hale, 137; of 
Pheidippides, 155; of Regulus, 
145; of Saul, 193; of The Book 
of Job, 207; of The Challenge of 
Thor, 99; of The Great Stone 
Face, 125; of The Sandpiper, 
96; of The Sicilian's Tale, 169; 
of The Solitary Reaper, 102; 
quality of, 226. 

Trade schools, 11, 13, 14. 

Trent, William P., 232. 

Troy, fields of, 24, 32. 

Type stories, 71-88; A Little Red 
Hen, 81; A Robin Hood Story, 
83; A Russian Legend, 71; 
Sleeping Beauty, 73; The Bre- 
men-Town Musicians, 77. 

Type studies, 135-162; Nathan 
Hale, 135; Pheidippides, 150; 
Regulus, 143. 



Vision of Sir Launfal, The (Lowell), 

quoted from, 58. 
Volkschulb of Germany, The, 

12. 



Warner, Charles Dudley, 
quoted, 33. 

Washington, George, 34, 116, 
137. 

Webster, Daniel, 34. 

Whitney, Mrs. A. D. T., adapta- 
tion from, quoted, 81-83. 

Whittier, J. G., 58; quoted, 61. 

Will, 90; an educated, 26; de- 
fined, 94; impelled in reading, 
45, 47. 

WooDBERRY, George E., 232; 
quoted, 23. 

Wordsworth, William, quoted, 
64, 101-102, 109. 

Zophar, the Naamathite, 210. 



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